Autumn is for dying
by schmarry schmotter
Summary: Whilst searching the abandoned Hogwarts for Horcruxes, Harry is attacked by Death Eaters and captured by Malfoy. Taken to a cabin surrounded by nothing but snow, ice and filled with nothing but silence and questions, will he manage to escape? Can Draco be persuaded to sacrifice everything? Is anything as it seems? Set 4 years after Dumbledore's death, Harry/Draco slash.
1. The Slytherin Common Room

**A/N : Hello! So I've returned to the world of fanfiction after a very long time away, and of course immediately sprinted straight for some good old Harry/Draco. Found a few good stories but a lot of... questionable characterisation -_O so I decided to write one of my own, to see if a) I could and b) if I could take the characters in a believable direction. So yes, this story WILL BE Harry/Draco, so if you're not about that life, maybe find your kicks elsewhere. Other than that, I apologise that there is no Draco in the first chapter, what with setting up the story and that.**

 **Follows canon up until Dumbledore's death. Oh, and I apologise if I make any errors with the Harry Potter mythos, and please feel free to correct me, it's been bare time since I've read the books.**

Autumn is for dying

Chapter 1

The empty halls belied no mystery, no air of brilliance nor any hidden secrets. Not any more. Empty picture frames hung like question marks, doors half opened onto empty classrooms and candles long burned out sat like misshapen, dripping monoliths. Moving staircases stood frozen, most connected up but some jutting out and ending in nothing but a hundred feet of dust and darkeness.

It was at the top of one of these that Harry Potter stood. The toes of his boots peeked millimeters out over the precipice. He was around the tenth story of the building, eleventh maybe. He'd lost count as he climbed. His hand brushed the cold stone of the bannister next to him. A touch was enough to drown out the vertigo that was threatening to bring tears to his eyes. He lowered himself slowly down, sitting on the edge of the top step and dangling his legs into the void.

"Harry?" Her voice was far away, quiet and echoing, but distance couldn't disguise the worry in her tone. If he glanced to one side, he could see the tiny body, hundreds of metres beneath him, slowly taking the steps one by one. "Harry?"

"I'm here Hermione." He answered. He watched her head snap up to follow his voice.

"...Get away from the edge!" He caught her shrill yell, watched her hand fly up to clutch the front of her jumper. Harry smiled, affection blossoming in his chest. Hermione's mothering was a comforting balm to him, a familiar token that had only developed more as they found themselves in more and more dangerous situations year upon year.

"Where's Ron?" He called. She shrugged in answer.

"Here." An unexpected voice behind Harry startled him, and as he whipped around, he lost his balance on the precipice. Fortunately, Ron's quick lunge was enough to yank Harry back before the Boy Who Lived became the Pancake Who Died. Heart thudding, he used both his friend and the banister to pull himself up.

"Jesus Christ, Ron." He muttered.

"Sorry!" Ron replied sheepishly. "Did you find anything?"

Taking a steadying breath, Harry shook his head. "No." Not that he'd ever thought there'd be something to find in this sad, empty shell of a building.

Coming back here was like reopening a wound that had just begun to heal. It had been four years since Dumbledore had fallen from the tower, four years since Hogwarts had closed its doors to students for the final time. Four years since a lot of children found themselved having to become adults rather quickly.

The world had become a colder place. Colder and less saturated with colour, less filled with life and happiness. Quieter.

In the beginnning the disappearances were small, secret and only discovered in the aftermath. Mothers vanishing after tucking their children into bed. Children never returning home after a day of playing. Fathers leaving for work and never arriving. Bodies were never found. The ministry did what it could, in the beginning, to downplay and deny, but once whole families started vanishing without a trace, certain acknowledgements had to be made.

Investigations were initiated into the disappearances. But what became apparent to anybody who cared was the simple fact of what linked the victims. Their blood heritage.

Half-blood families. Voldemort had begun his siege upon the world in the simplest and most effective way he could. Striking at the hearts of communities unpredictably, but at the same time horribly reminiscent of his first attack upon the world, before a certain baby clipped his wings.

It wasnt until the summer following the school closure that war was officially declared. By then, Harry had already moved into Grimmauld Place, no longer assured of the safety of his blood relatives without Dumbledore there to guarantee it.

Hermione followed shortly after, having sent her parents somewhere warm and as safe as the world could get. The Weasleys remained in the Burrow, having extended Harry an open invitation to their hearth.

Harry thanked them with a smile and nod, but secretly would rather have died himself than bring the danger of his presence to their doorstep.

Grimmauld place became home. An old, gross, smelly and cursed home, but more of a home than Privet Drive ever had been. Lupin often visited, indeed, with Harry's unspoken but express permission, he'd claimed a large room on the third floor as his own, and stayed whenever he was in the area.

Other than that the house still played base to the Order of the Phoenix, and a day rarely went by without a heavy booted wizard or witch breezing through the house, shouting for help or planning a meeting or even just looking for a place to rest for a minute before venturing back out into battle.

Harry had been under a strictly enforced house arrest until his 18th birthday, at which time whether his guardians wanted to or not, they couldn't stop him from venturing out into the world. And so he did, and for three years he and his two loyal companions had searched the globe for horcruxes.

"Hermione wanted to check the dungeons together." Ron said as they turned to walk back down the staircase together. Harry nodded, glancing at his friend. Ron had grown taller and broader in last few years, as had he. They were now physically the adult men that they'd been forced to mentally become over the years. The three of them had spent much of the previous year in South America, chasing what turned out to be a futile lead on a horcrux, and they all still bore the deep tans the weather had forced upon them.

Ron, unfortunately, also gained a nice new scar running from his chin up to his temple, thanks to a nasty little pitched battle against a group of Death Eaters that had caught up with them in Peru. They'd won the battle, mainly thanks to a series of preemtive curses Hermione had rigged the area with, but Ron would carry the evidence with him forever.

They walked in companionable silence together, down, down and further down. Harry hitched his backpack up, trying to stop it bouncing uncomfortably on his back. It held all his travel posessions, it had travelled with him across the world. Hermione and Ron carried similar packs, each charmed to be almost weightless.

It took a while for the pair of them to make their way back down to where Hermione waited, sitting on a wall and playing with her wand between her fingers.

"I think someone must have been into the rooms on these lower floors." She greeted them, hopping lightly to her feet. "They look ransacked."

"I thought you said the anti-muggle charms were still holding?" Ron frowned. Hermione fell into step with the pair of them, tugging her coat back down from where it'd rucked up.

"They have. Must have been a wizard." Death Eater? Unlikely. Looting was strangely not a part of their M.O. The roving gangs of dark wizards held with almost Viking-esque behaviour; murder and rape, burn and devastate - but not pillage. They probably thought themselves above the posessions of a half blood family.

They reached the stairway leading to the castle dungeons. How many times had they dejectedly trodden this very path en route to a Potions class? Harry looked down into the dark. Hogwarts truly had lost its charm. A draught whistled slightly, sending a chill down his spine.

Behind them, they'd left the main doors open. There'd been no reason to shut them, if the three of them could get in, so could anybody else, regardless of whether or not the doors were barred. The grey light came in with the wind, it would be getting dark soon.

"Well?" Ron mumbled, gently pushing past Harry and taking a step forward. He glanced back over his shoulder, tossing his head slightly to get his hair from his eyes. He grinned, winking at Hermione. "Let's break into Slytherin common rooms." Hermione snorted and the spell the dark had over them was broken.

They descended into the shadow.

It was unpleasant to find that time and desolation had not robbed the corridors beneath the castle of any of its slime. If anything, the floors were more treacherous and the walls greener.

"How could anybody live down here?" Ron asked, revolted. Harry watched as he swiped a finger along the wall as he walked and revealed a slick of some sort of dark green algae. "Fucking gross."

"It wasn't this bad when Filch was still here." Hermione commented, pulling her wand out for light as they walked deeper. Soon, the faint glow from behind them faded to nothing and her Lumos was the only thing between the three of them and the black.

"Snape's room." Hermione whispered as they passed a large black door on their left. Like the rooms on the floors above, the door was cracked open and as they walked, they could see overturned tables and potion spills, still slick and shiny on the floor.

"Only good thing that came from this place closing, that." Ron muttered darkly. "No more bloody potions."

After the fall of Dumbledore, Snape had vanished entirely. He'd been searched for by both the Order and the Ministry, but his absence remained a mystery. Harry supposed he'd returned to Voldemort, bathing in the good graces of his master after his victory over the headteacher.

They checked other rooms as they passed, but found only more of the same; dark, damp rooms, devoid of all life besides the green mould reclaiming each surface.

Eventually they reached the Slytherin portrait. Like every other painting, the subject had long since moved on.

"How are we going to get in?" Hermione whispered. It felt wrong to speak loud in the suffocating quiet, each sound echoing and booming. Ron pushed on the painting, then hooked his long fingers beneath the rim and tried pulling. Failing to move it, he shrugged and stepped back, folding his arms.

Harry moved forward and ran a hand on the bumpy surface of the painting. It was perhaps the only clean surface they'd come across in the dungeons, charmed to be resistant to dirt for all time. The once gilded frame had not been given the same treatment, however, and was brassy and tarnished where it wasnt slime coated.

"Stand back." Hermione commanded in a mutter, pulling on Harry's sleeve. Harry remembered when she was taller than both him and Ron, a bossy head held high and proud. Now, her head was still proud and high, but reached no higher than his shoulder. She'd pulled her hair tightly up into a bun on top of her head, dark hair slicked into place with some gel. Years of running and fighting had taught them all the best ways of dressing to avoid accidents, and Hermione's hair had enough times been the victim of Death Eater hands grabbing and yanking that she now kept it tightly away whenever they were out.

They all dressed in dark colours. This wasnt by any way a means of camoflague, but the dark times they were in didnt feel like the times for bright, happy colours. Everywhere you looked in the world, you'd see the same at this point. Wizards once priding themselves in the swish of their long, maroon cloaks now favoured shorter, darker, more... well in Harry's opinion, more muggle fashions. Trousers, coats and boots. A world at war, and each person a soldier whether they chose it or not. It had been quite a few years since remaining neutral was an option.

Harry allowed her to pull him back and he stood shoulder to shoulder with Ron, drawing his own wand and zipping his coat up to his chin. There wasn't anything beyond the portrait door, he knew that, but they'd all learned the truth behind 'better safe than sorry'.

Hermione took a breath, then, flicking her wand in a deceptively casual fashion, blew the portrait inwards.

Dust filled the air and small bits of mortar flew towards the three of them, Harry and Ron now shielding their eyes.

"Hermione, what the hell?" Ron swore, grabbing the girl and pulling her to face him, eyes desperately scanning her for shrapnel injuries. She had none, and pulled herself out of his grasp.

"What?" She said defensively, avoiding his eyes. "It's a portrait lock, there's no way of breaking it if the painting has abandoned it."

"Well I sure hope nobody followed us this time, because if they did then I'm pretty sure they heard that giant explosion." Ron snapped. Hermione ignored him.

Harry let them argue. He'd long since learned his lesson about trying to mediate the two of them. If anything, his interference simply earned him the brunt of both of their ire. Instead, he slipped around Hermione, stood brushing down her coat, and awkwardly made his way over the shattered bricks and wood. Once inside, he cast a Lumos charm and threw it high, illuminating the whole room in a sickly pale, yellow glow.

"Oh, my god."

A stench that had, seconds before, been masked by the choking dust, hit Harry like the heat from an opened oven. He staggered back, retching.

"Shit..." He heard Ron gasp behind him. Hermione started crying. Leaning a hand against the algae encrusted wall to support himself, Harry threw up.

The yellow light showed the reds as blacks, and oh how much black there was. Scattered everywhere like broken dolls, mutilated and bloody, were the bodies of hundreds of house elves. Harry wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his coat and tried to stamp down his roiling stomach. He stepped away from his vomit and leaned back on the wall, breathing in through his mouth and surveying the spectacle ahead with blurry eyes. Hermione, sobbing, walked slowly back out of the room. Ron just stood, his face grey, eyes wide.

Harry couldn't take his eyes from the scene.

"There's dozens of them." Ron said hoarsley.

"Probably all of them." Harry answered, voice barely a whisper. "Murdered."

"Why?" Harry had no response. Apart from the corpses littering the room, the Slytherin common room was barely disturbed. Two long couches, probably green in the light of day but under the yellow light it was impossible to tell, were angled towards a cold and empty fireplace. Elegant, serpentine swirls of stone made up the mantle, the pristine white now splattered with fluids.

The same hollow, empty picture frames graced all of the walls, and up near the high celing, thin windows showed a night sky through dirty glass.

Two entrances on either side of the room led upwards with staircases; the bedrooms. Both were dark, the light charm only illuminating a few feet upwards.

"Should we..." Harry's voice caught in his throat as bile once again rose up. Swallowing hard, he resisted the urge to vomit. "Should we check the bedrooms?"

Ron broke his horrified gaze to look back at Harry. His face looked thin, thinner and older than it had before they'd set foot in this tomb.

"Is there any point?"

There was the crux of the matter. The reason why they'd returned to this empty, abandoned, cursed place. The search for horcruxes had led them, in a small town in Peru, to a clue.

It turned out that a young Tom Riddle had spent some time, nearly twenty years previously, looking for different ways to hide the pieces of his soul, other than the traditional placement in an object.

In South America he, and later Harry, had learned that it was possible to bind a fragment to another soul. Not just any soul, no, to the soul of one whose body was no longer a part of the earth. Through an elegant enchantment, the young Dark Lord had woven the fate of one of his horcruxes to the fate of a ghost.

Harry had questioned the usefulness of this, surely any living (technically) being could be reasoned with, and would Voldemort risk the ghost being found out and persuaded to take part in the destruction of the parasitic soul attached to it? Hermione had answered with a sigh and shrug.

"That's not how the enchantment works. It's not... stuck to the ghost's soul with glue, it cant be just removed. It becomes one with the ghost. It merges, becomes one." She looked into Harry's eyes, her own big brown eyes filled with a deep sadness. "The only way to destroy the horcrux is to destroy the soul of the ghost. Voldemort didn't just hide this fragment, he gave it the ultimate protection from destruction; a thinking, reasoning being that can..." She laughed without any humour, "That can walk through walls and vanish without trace."

In their searching, they'd been able to build up a rough timeline of when Voldemort had created each horcrux, although they were far from determining any locations, and so after learning this information, the three of them (mainly Hermione) managed to narrow down the time period of its creation to a time Voldemort was known to have been around Hogwarts.

"Makes sense." Harry had commented as the three of them stood in the kitchen of Grimmauld place, staring at a map of Hogwarts laid carefully on the big, wooden table. "He always thought of Hogwarts as his. That must include the ghosts as well."

And so, a careful plan and plenty of reconnaisanse later, they'd made the portkey trip to the grounds. It was a cold day, snow threatening to fall. A select few members of the Order knew of the mission, Remus and Bill Weasley among them, and were waiting outside the grounds, on high alert. They couldn't risk bringing more people into the castle for fear of rousing attention through numbers. If any Death Eaters had set any proximity alarms or sensor spells, it would be much easier for the three of them to quickly escape than a whole squad.

They'd been unsurprised to find the castle barren, empty of any spirits, but they had to check.

"If we don't check, why did we bother coming?" Harry breathed, looking across at Ron's face. Ron swore, glancing to one side and running a hand across his stubble as he was want to do when frustrated.

"Fine." He said shortly. "Leave Hermione outside, I'll check the girls. You do the boys'." Harry nodded, pushing back off the wall and walking slowly to the dark staircase at the other side of the room, trying to keep his eyes on the wall and off of the rotting bodies around his feet.

He turned as he reached the entrance, glancing back over his shoulder to his friend. Ron hadn't hesitated and was disappearing into the dark. With a breath, Harry did the same.

The staircase had a gradual turn to the left, like a traditional castle defense. He reached the first door and pushed it open, wishing to anything listening that it wouldn't reveal another massacre.

It didnt. Eight beds, still made and untouched, and a fireplace were all that greeted him. No ghosts, no bodies. Harry retreated and made his way onwards.

"Anything?" Ron asked as he entered the common room again, five minutes later. Harry shook his head. "Let's blow this joint then."

They left the bloody room without saying another word. What word could be said? Hermione was a little down the corridor, sat with her knees drawn up to her and her wand clutched tightly in one hand. She looked up at them as they walked towards her. Her face was pale beneath her tan, eyes red.

"Sorry." She said as they reached her, voice cracking. Ron extended a hand to her before Harry got the chance. She took it gratefully, allowing herself to be gently pulled up and into a hug.

Harry hung back slightly, out of earshot of the reassuring whispers Ron was muttering into her hair. He turned to one side awkwardly.

Huh. That was strange. From behind them, the direction they'd come in, a soft light illuminated the corner. That didn't make sense, they were many hundreds of metres and lots of turns away from the entrance, plus... plus the sun had set...

"Shit!" Harry hissed, spinning back to his friends. "Get back!" They jumped away from each other, both wands drawn and pointing up in a fraction of a second.

"Fuck." Ron swore, retreating with Hermione pushed behind his arm. Sadness forgotten, she swatted his hand away in irritation.

"Where?" Harry's head swung back to the common room. It was the only exit, the corridor an abrupt and cold, dark dead end a few feet behind them.

"There's no way out of the dormitories!" Ron spat after Hermione, who was already scrambling through the rubble.

Harry gestured sharply at Ron to follow her, and with a filthy look and curse, he did. Hesistating for a second longer, Harry watched as the steady light flickered, long hooded shadows about to turn the corner. Leaping and running, he sprinted into the Slytherin dormitories.

"Come on!" Ron hissed at him from the foot of the girls' staircase, Hermione already halfway up. Swerving around, Harry made the distance in seconds, barely a step behind Ron as they ascended.

"Here!" Hermione was stood, a slender black clad figure sillhoutted against an open doorway. She disappeared inside.

"How many of them?" Ron breathed as he and Harry shot up. Harry shook his head.

"No idea, didn't see. More than two." The shadows had betrayed that much.

"Harry, Ron!" Hermione had shut the door gently behind the pair of them and cast a wordless locking charm on it, leaving a oil-slick like sheen on the surface of the wood briefly before disappearing.

"And how the hell do we get out of here?" Ron agonized, pacing up and down the neatly made beds. Harry stood in place, bouncing up and down on his heels. Hermione faced the door for a second, taking a deep breath, before turning to face them, a steely look of determination on her face.

"The same way we got in."

It took Harry a moment before he realised what she meant. He beat Ron to the punch though, a glance at his confused, sweat and dirt smeared face revealed that much. He took a breath and sat down on the nearest bed.

"Hermione," He started. She turned to face him, hands on her hips. "Even if that works, how do you know where we'll end up? It could be the lake out there. We could drown!"

She shook her head quickly, "No, no I remember seeing the common room windows from outside, this tower ends up just to the left of the lake. You can see it from the Astronomy courtyard-"

"Wait..." Ron interrupted, catching up. "Are you suggesting-"

"That we blow a fucking hole in the wall." If they weren't in such a dangerous situation, if they werent standing a few minutes away from the murdered bodies of fifty house elves, Harry might have laughed.

Hermione scowled at his phrasing, then her face cleared and she shrugged.

"If you can think of another way out, please. By all means." She whispered, folding her arms. Silence answered her.

"Well..." Ron started, "They might not even find us, they might just assume we left?" As if in answer, a sudden banging sounded from beneath them. Harry stood up quickly, his heart suddenly in his throat. Muffled shouting sounded, and small pops, like someone was casting curses at thin air.

"What are they doing?" Hermione whispered, her eyes wide. She backed away from the door, only stopping when she collided with Ron, who put a hand on her shoulder.

Harry stood ahead of them, staring at the door.

"They're just..." He listened intently, trying to discern which spells they were throwing around. "It sounds like they're trying to stun..." Realization dawned. He turned to look at his pale faced friends.

"They think I'm under an invisibilty cloak... guys, they know it's us." Heavy footsteps joined the cacophony of noises. Someone was climbing the stairs.

"Shit, shit, shit." Ron resumed his panicked pacing. Hermione, breathing rapidly, raised her wand and pointed it steadily at the door. Harry looked between his friends. The only people he had left.

"This situation is not in our favour." He stated. Hermione looked at him. "We're backed into a corner. We can't win this fight." It was true. Although the trio had faced off against Death Eaters in pitched battle before and come off victorious, it must be admitted that the odds had always been stacked in their favour, with Hermione's ingenious traps or simply by having the larger number. They might be the brightest witch, the Boy-Who-Lived and the bravest ginger in the world, but they were still 21 year old school drop-outs.

"What do we do then?" Hermione breathed, eyes large and dark as she looked to Harry for answers.

Harry shrugged.

"Let's blow a fucking hole in the wall."

Hermione smiled despite herself, breathing heavily.

"Ron?" Harry looked to the other man, who had stilled and was staring at Hermione.

"Let's blow a fucking hole in the god damn wall."


	2. A Point of No Return

**A/N: I got impatient, I was going to wait to submit this until tomorrow, or even the day after, but I ended up adding to the end of the chapter and liked it so much I was like ah fack it. Also yes, you may be like Jesus, for a Harry/Draco fic this isn't seeming that way but I'm sorry, I'm trying to aim for some realistic characterisation as I mentioned, so we gotta work for our love here, okay? Okay c: and I'm sorry but poor old Harry gets quite battered in this one.**

Autumn is for dying

Chapter 2

Hermione was getting into position when the door handle rattled. Harry watched as Ron put himself between the bushy haired witch and the door, and moved to join his friend, wand outstretched, in case she didn't make them an exit in time.

It was funny, out of the three of them she was by far the most skilled with a wand, the most adept at magic and the most likely to enter a duel with a strategy, and yet the pair of boys had long since fallen into a pattern of pushing her to the back, further from harms way. For Harry, the explanation was simple; he would rather face the brunt of whatever was coming their way than either of his friends, but Ron being taller than him made it hard to pull the redhead back, so he had to settle for covering Hermione. For Ron... Harry suspected Ron had stronger feelings for Hermione, but seeing as neither of his friends were willing to admit it, there was nothing he could say about the matter.

"Come on, Hermione..." Ron groaned as something, a body or curse, hit the door hard, leaving it shaking.

"Okay, okay!" She snapped, "This is the place, I'm sure of it!"

"Well then do it!" Harry shouted back, watching with wide eyes as a glowing spiderweb of cracks began to form in the wood of the door.

" _Suero Bombarde_!" Hermione yelled. Harry's head whipped around to see her wave her wand, not in a small flick as before with the portrait, but in a wide swing followed by a stabbing motion, backed up with a push from her other hand. A jet of dark red light spat from the end of her wand and buried its self in the stone wall. For a second, nothing happened, and Harry began to worry the spell had failed. But he needn't have worried.

"Get back!" Hermione yelled shrilly, whipping herself around and running to crouch near one of the beds.

Harry and Ron looked at each other, then quickly followed suit. The whole room began to shake and vibrate, like they were caught in an earthquake. Harry covered his head. In an almighty inhalation, all the air and light left the room, then with a deafening boom, half of the wall was ripped from the very structure of the castle, flying backwards into... into...

Hermione was wrong.

Lake water came rushing in. Harry barely had a moment to take a breath before the black water hit him hard. It swept him up and back, cracking his head against the stone wall. The light in the room had not returned, and he struggled blindly against the force of the water as it filled the room.

After a moment of suffocating madness, the waters reached an equilibrium and stilled, and as Harry's lungs screamed for air, he managed to open his eyes. Through the murky black waters, moonlight shone and illuminated the ruins of the bedroom. Ahead of him, Ron was swimming forwards, clutching on to the edge of the building. Harry swept his head to his right, to the side of the room where Hermione had been crouching. She wasn't there.

Pushing off from the wall with his feet, he kicked violently, twisting up and over until he caught sight of her dark form, floating motionlessly a few feet from the flooded floor.

Although his very soul was screaming for him to just swim up and away, to reach the air he so desperately needed, he grabbed onto the front of her coat, and slowly pulled her up with him.

Before he reached the open lake outside of the ruined wall, Ron had returned from the surface and reached to take Hermione from him. Harry relinquished the weight gladly, putting the rest of his energy into simply reaching the glittering surface above him.

The breath of air he choked down as he crested the surface was the sweetest thing he'd ever tasted.

"Harry?!" He could hear Ron spluttering to one side. Treading water, he span around until he caught sight of his friends.

"Is..is she..." Trying to talk unbalanced him, and Harry found himself slipping back under. His clothes and backpack were dragging him down, weightlessness charms or not. He slipped the pack off, letting it float down into the dark, and kicked his shoes off.

"Is she breathing?" Swimming was much easier now.

"Yes! Get to... get to shore!" He didn't need telling twice.

The muddy ground had little purchase to it, but it was a welcome struggle to crawl out of the inky lake. Flipping over onto his back, Harry just breathed. He wished it was the first time he'd nearly drowned whilst being pursued by Death Eaters, but it wasn't even the second. How many of these should-be unusual circumstances were going to become old hat before this war was over? A twenty one year old man shouldn't long for a normal, boring life, but here he was. When breathing became easy again, Harry sat up.

"You alright, mate?" Ron wasn't far away, sitting up and patting a coughing Hermione on the back.

"Yeah, not bad." Harry staggered upright. "Fuck, lost my wand though."

"I managed to keep hold of mine." Ron replied, his focus on the wheezing girl doubled over beside him. "Breathe, Herm." He said gently, rubbing circles on her back. She coughed a final time then looked up to Harry. Her hair was still perfectly slicked back into that bun, unlike Harry's straggly mess currently falling into his eyes. Now his hair was getting longer, perhaps he'd have to take some tips from her.

"I'm sorry, Harry." She croaked, turning to sit back. "I really thought we were further over."

Harry laughed, pulling his shirt over his head. "We're alive, that's all that matters." He glanced over at the two of them, currently giving him strange looks as he also slipped his heavy jeans off and stood there in nothing but his black underwear.

"Harry, mate... what are you doing?" Ron asked, an eyebrow raised. Harry sighed as he stepped back towards the lake.

"My wand isn't going to get itself back." He said, "And the longer I stay out of water, the colder it's going to be when I get back in."

"But... the Death Eaters..." Hermione protested. "I'll just _accio_ it..." Harry didn't bother glancing back.

"Too much water, too much magic and you know it. And as for the Death Eaters, if they didn't manage to break the door down before you bust the wall, I doubt they'll be stupid enough to do it now." He took a deep breath and began to wade forward, back into the inky gloom.

"Be careful!" He heard Hermione shout. Waving a hand, he reached waist high water, and dove in.

It took a few minutes of careful swimming to relocate the opening in the building. Above water level nothing betrayed it's location, but once Harry got close enough to see in the dark depths, he could easily spot the gaping hole in the building. It marred the castle like a giant creature had taken a bite out of the side of it. Having known her for years, Harry was rarely impressed by Hermione's magical feats anymore, but this was something awesome.

Taking a final breath, Harry swam down to the hole and pulled himself into the room. The moonlight filtered down through the water lazily, illuminating the dormitory enough that Harry could see the furniture and walls, but not much more unless he was closer. He kicked and pushed at the water, fighting the buoyancy of the air in his lungs, until he could grab onto one of the beds and use it as an anchor as he searched the floor.

He found nothing with his first lungful of air, and unfortunately, did not bother to glance over at the doorway to the staircase before he swam back to the surface for another breath. Unbeknownst to him, the spell Hermione had cast to seal the door against intruders had the added effect of making the room soundproof. The spell had hidden the explosion and resultant destruction from the intruders trying to break in.

Harry searched the room by blurry sight and by feel, until finally, he felt a familiar shape beneath his fingers. Cheering inwardly, he flipped over and kicked off from the bottom, pushing up once more for the surface.

But it was too late.

Behind him, the glowing cracks in the door had been creeping slowly outwards until they covered it like a shattered mirror, and just as Harry could touch the hole in the wall with his outstretched fingertips, the door disintegrated in its frame.

An unsuspecting Death Eater was slammed back into the stone behind by the wall of water rushing in and down the stairs.

Harry was caught up in the powerful current that whirled and dragged him back down and through the door. He was swept down the stairs on the wave spared no bumps by the water, hitting every step, corner and person in his way.

Water rushed into the common room, sweeping aside the gruesome scene like the wave of a giant hand. Harry slammed into the back of one of the chairs, catching a glimpse of several cloaked persons being swept to the floor around him.

If Harry had been paying attention, he would have heard a voice yell an incantation, would have seen the desperate wave of the wand that accompanied it.

Like a faucet being twisted, the water stopped abruptly. Harry was dropped to the floor, winded and spluttering. The water had only reached a couple of feet in depth, and with a strained and painful push, Harry sat up, thanking his stars that he'd somehow, this time, managed to keep a hold of his wand.

Not that it was going to matter, as when he lifted his head to assess his situation, he found himself staring at the end of another wand, held inches in front of his face.

"Hello, Potter."

That voice...

"Malfoy?" Harry asked, incredulously.

"In the flesh. Your wand?" Harry didn't move, his heart pounding and his brain racing. Around them he could see several other dark figures slowly getting up, sending waves through the water as they moved. The water reached his waist as he sat, his wand hidden in a clutched hand beneath the surface.

"I don't have it." He lied, squinting up to try and get a glimpse of his would-be captor beneath his hood. It was too dark. The pale yellow luminescent charm he'd cast at the ceiling was still the only source of light in the room and it was fading rapidly as time went by.

"Don't lie." Malfoy hissed, leaning forward and placing the tip of his wand at Harry's throat. Harry swallowed, involuntarily tipping his head back slightly against the pressure. He refused to let fear or panic throw him off of his game, he'd been fighting this war too long for that, but finding out that it was Draco Malfoy who had a wand to his neck was disconcerting.

"I'm not." Harry ground, wishing he wasn't as exposed as he was, sat there in his underwear and surrounded by enemies. He needed to figure out a plan of escape, or at least a plan of attack to delay his murder or abduction before Ron and Hermione figured out he was in trouble and came to help. "I lost it when your moronic friends opened the door and let the lake in." Malfoy stayed silent and still for a moment, as if contemplating his answer, and for a brief moment Harry thought he'd get a chance to use the hidden wand.

The moment broke, however, when another Death Eater sloshed through the knee-deep water, paused for a second, looked down at Harry, then lashed out violently, kicking him in the head.

Harry fell to one side, stars exploding behind his eyes and ears ringing. He fell beneath the water, the shock of the hit blacking him out for a second.

Before he could recover and push himself up, someone grabbed him by his hair, wrenching him to his knees.

He spluttered and coughed, water in his eyes, mouth and nose, and the side of his head feeling like a fiery ball of ache.

"Take his wand, Draco." He heard a deep voice command. Cold fingers closed around his wrist and wrestled his wand from him.

He blinked his eyes rapidly, trying to squeeze the lake water out and clear his vision. He mustn't panic. A wand poked painfully into the hollow of his throat, and the hand buried in his hair tightened, pulling him up to his feet.

"Dressed for the occasion?" The deep voice mocked before Harry caught a fist to his bare stomach, knocking the wind from him and doubling him over as far as the hand pulling his hair would let him. "Disgusting."

"Fuck you." Harry croaked, grabbing at the hand in his hair and swinging a fist blindly to his left. Before it could connect, however, it was grabbed and pulled behind his back. His hair was released and his other arm restrained with the first.

"Fuck you!" Harry repeated, struggling and twisting to try and free himself. Malfoy was stood ahead of him, wand pointed steadily forwards. The Death Eater who held his arms behind him was strong, very strong and much larger than Harry. His struggles were ineffective, but he'd be damned if he wouldn't struggle until his last ounce of strength.

"It's useless wriggling, you silly prick." The man holding him snarled, pushing Harry's arms further up his back, eliciting a pained gasp from the smaller man. The voice sounded familiar somehow, but Harry couldn't place it in the moment. "You're going nowhere." Where were Ron and Hermione? They must have seen the water move as it rushed down into the Slytherin common room.

Harry kicked back, hard, with his bare feet. His captor barely flinched. "I will break your fucking arms." The voice had become a growl, almost. Recognition clicked in Harry and his blood froze.

Fenrir Greyback.

That explained the raw power of the man holding him.

" _Incarcerous_." Harry didn't have time to react before Malfoy's curse hit him and he was bound, hand and foot, with thick, grey ropes. Greyback released him, letting Harry fall to his knees. Harry, breathing heavily, hissed in pain as the ropes tightened, digging a bloody groove into his wrists.

Another Death Eater, across the room, shouted something Harry didn't catch, but drew the attention of Malfoy, who quickly strode away.

Harry felt the water move around his hips as Greyback walked slowly to face him.

"Harry fucking Potter." The man, if he could still be described as that, crouched into a squat, and reached a filthy, clawed hand out to grab Harry's chin. "The Dark Lord will be pleased." He tipped Harry's chin up, holding him in an iron grip, impossible to resist. Harry grimaced, feeling the werewolf's sharp nails dig into his skin as he tilted Harry's face to one side and the other, inspecting him. "How the fuck you've lasted this long, I'll never know." He leaned in closer, and Harry nearly gagged at the stench of his breath. "You're soft. Weak." His eyes, a dark yellow that shone almost gold in the fading light overhead, raked up and down Harry's body, sending a shiver down his spine. "And you're going to die."

"Get the fuck off me," Harry spat, trying to jerk his face from Greyback's hand. The werewolf held on with an amused snort.

"Where are your friends, then?" Greyback breathed, close enough to Harry's face now that he could feel the heat from his skin, see each pockmark and scar that peppered the werewolf's face. "The Weasley? The mudblood girl?" He grinned, revealing a wide, unbroken bank of sharp yellow teeth. "I'd love to take bit out of that little bitch. I bet she's juicy-" Rage swelled in Harry's gut, turning his vision red, and with a yell he launched his whole body forward, breaking the grip on his face and sending his forehead flying into Greyback's nose.

A sick crunch greeted the collision, and the werewolf let out a pained howl as hot blood spurted down his face. With his hands tied behind him, Harry couldn't stop himself from slipping back under the cold water as he landed. He twisted desperately around, surfacing and looking for something to cut his bonds and free himself with. In front of him, Greyback was reeling backwards, hand pressed to his bleeding face.

Each second passing felt like a gunshot, time flying by as Harry shuffled forwards, spotting a broken chair with a sharp corner. He could hear footsteps around him, feel the water splashing and surging as the Death Eaters approaching him made waves. It only took a second for him to slice far enough through his ankle bindings to be able to snap the rope and free his legs. He leapt to his feet, hands still tied behind him, and turned to face the enemy.

There were four hooded Death Eaters in the room besides the now-upright Greyback, who was approaching him slowly, a hideously predatory expression on his busted and bloody face. From distance, Harry couldn't tell which one was Malfoy, or guess at the identity of the other three. He didn't know why he hadn't been cursed him from afar as soon as he broke free of the werewolf, but he didn't plan on hanging around to find out. He turned and sprinted, Hermione's hole in the wall his target.

The water slowed him less than the Death Eaters, his almost naked body allowing him a strange advantage over the sodden, heavy cloaks of the his pursuers.

Shouting followed him, and as the last of the light faded from above and the room plunged into darkness, bright curses were thrown. Burning jets of green and white light aimed blindly, hitting the water and walls around but not hitting Harry. As he reached the hole, his bare feet began to radiate with agony as he stumbled and tripped over sharp pieces of rubble - stone and wood shards sticking into him.

He didn't let it slow him down and made it into the corridor just as Fenrir Greyback, spitting and snarling, slammed into the wall beside him.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck..." He chanted as he ran, the water level lowering and finally disappearing as he slid and leaped up the slight incline of the corridor.

He made it quite far running in almost perfect darkness, bouncing off the the walls and avoiding slipping over on the slimy rocks. But his luck finally ran out, and just as he turned the last corner of the dungeon, moonlight from the open entrance door beyond lighting the way, a curse hit the back of one of his legs and sent him sprawling.

The Death Eaters were on him in seconds, grabbing his arms and pinning him between two of them so tightly he could barely breathe. Greyback strode up to him and slapped him, hard, around the face. Harry's head snapped to one side and he tasted blood.

"We need to get him off of the grounds _now_ , before any more of the fucking Order show up!" An unknown Death Eater hissed at the werewolf. Greyback grunted, giving Harry one last look filled with hate and the promise of future pain, and span on his heel.

Harry was marched forwards.

Okay, what was his plan? What was his plan? He couldn't think. He couldn't breathe. Fear, as much as he had fought against it, gripped his mind, his aching head, in a vice. This couldn't be the end, not after everything. Where were Ron and Hermione? Bill Weasley and Lupin? God, he hoped they hadn't been caught as well, or worse.

As they reached the doorway to the outside, the freezing night breeze reminded him that he was cold, wet and mostly naked. His feet, however, were burning white hot with pain. He looked down and saw that his tan skin was slick with blood from the ankles downwards. On the leg that had caught the curse, a nasty red welt was raising and beginning to bleed.

He was in a bit of a pickle.

"Keep walking, Potter." Ah, so Malfoy was one of the two currently frog marching him through the cold grass.

"Malfoy." He said, trying to keep his voice from shaking. "Come on-"

"Shut the fuck up." Malfoy snapped, jerking his arm painfully. Harry pulled back automatically, a reactionary move. It earned him a wand pointed a few inches from his mouth. "Stop it."

But he couldn't. If he could just slow them down, stop the march for a few moments, give his friends time to catch up with them, maybe he'd have a chance to escape. And so, knowing it would definitely end in more pain for himself, he kicked his leg out, hooking it around one of the blonde Death Eater's legs and sending the two of them tumbling to the ground.

" _Come on_!" He heard Greyback howl in frustration. Harry landed on his back with one of Malfoy's legs pinned beneath him.

Malfoy kicked Harry in the side with his free leg, knocking the wind out of him. If he did manage to get out of this situation Harry knew he was going to look like a murder victim with all these bruises and cuts.

Harry tried to twist and kick at the blonde man, but his arms were still pinned behind him, restricting his movement.

As he laid on his back, fighting for his life, he could see the moon, fat and almost-full, shining bright. He supposed it was good luck that it wasn't full, what with Fenrir Greyback on the prowl. Then again, he was a little old for the werewolf's tastes.

Malfoy managed to pull his leg from beneath the darker man's body, kicking out at him again. But as pain exploded in his side, it was soon replaced by a much, much deeper agony.

" _Crucio_!" Fire exploded in all his nerves and the sky disappeared from his vision, replaced by the dark red of the back of his eyelids as he screwed his eyes shut. Harry curled in on himself, his fingers clawing over like a Parkinson's sufferer. The pain came in quick waves, engulfing and overwhelming, driving him to madness. It was like someone had skinned him alive and submerged him in a vat of lemon juice. He opened his mouth to scream, but nothing came out, his vocal cords as strained as every other muscle in his body, tightening in a useless defence against the magical assault.

And then, as immediately as it had begun, it was over. Harry returned to the world, slumped on his side, panting. His muscles relaxed, but twitched randomly as his body tried to reset itself in the aftermath of the attack. Quite unwillingly, a hot tear slowly welled up and fell from one of his eyes. His body felt cold, laid in the dark.

"Get up." His attacker, one of the nameless Death Eaters, was approaching him slowly, wand out. Next to him, he could hear Malfoy scrambling to his feet. Harry couldn't have moved even if he'd have wanted to. "Get him up!" His arms were grabbed with cold hands, and he was pulled upright, but he was both unwilling and unable to support his weight, and slumped heavily against an unsteady figure.

"Fucking pathetic." He heard a grumble before he felt large, clawed hands grab him around the waist and under one leg, and he was lifted. He was deposited ungently over Fenrir Greyback's shoulder, a single hand gripping him around the thigh to keep him in place. His world was spinning and he almost vomited down the werewolf's back. "Let's go."

As he was bounced painfully up and down, the ground beneath changed from grass to gravel, and his hope began to fade as he recognised it as the path leading to the boundary of the grounds. Soon they'd be able to _apparate_ him away, away from safety, away from any possibility of rescue by his friends. Away to his certain murder at the hands of his worst enemy. He wanted to struggle, to free himself, to pull his hands out of the bindings that still cut into his wrists, to kick away from Fenrir Greybacks grip which was uncomfortable in more ways than he'd like, deliberately placed too high around his inner thigh. But he couldn't. Beaten, bruised and bloody, injuries piled on injuries and the final torture curse had robbed him of his last strength. He could only wait as the troop made their way beyond the point of no return.


	3. Captured In The Snow

**A/N: okay I guess updates are coming thick and fast, but they will slow down soon. I think. So another chapter with no slashy times, I do apologise, but it is building. I've got the basis of this story planned out, it's just building it up now. If you're reading this... thanks! Hope you enjoy.**

Autumn is for dying

Chapter 3

"Where should we take him?" Harry heard someone ask. Silence greeted the question.

"The Dark Lord instructed-"

"The Dark Lord is not here. I am." Fenrir Greyback's voice was quietly dangerous. Harry felt him turn towards the other Death Eaters. "And he instructed me to make the decisions in his absence." Nobody questioned the werewolf. So, he wouldn't be taken directly to Voldemort? This managed to be good news while at the same time making Harry's stomach clench. He wouldn't be taken to Voldemort but he would be at the mercy of the insane werewolf for the foreseeable future. Great.

"We couldn't take him straight to The Dark Lord anyway." Harry head Malfoy respond shortly. "As we all know, _Rodenna_ , under no circumstances does he take unnanounced guests. Or do you want to be the first?" The faceless Rodenna didn't respond, but Harry could imagine the fear he must be feeling at even the idea of incurring Voldemort's displeasure. "I didn't think so. So we can t-"

"Draco." Greyback interrupted Malfoy in that same quiet, deadly tone. "I think you of all people, little traitor, shouldn't be trying to give orders." He said it softly. "Or do you want to explain to our Lord exactly why you think you should be leading this little...party?"

"I wasn't-"

"Yes you were." Greyback swung Harry around as he turned to face Malfoy. "Were you hoping you'd been forgiven, maybe?" His voice took on a mocking tone and he took a small step forward. "Did you think maybe that mummy's little sacrifice was enough to get you back into his good books?"

Malfoy didn't reply. This was interesting. Dissention in the ranks. Harry listened intently. What had happened to Narcissa Malfoy? Greyback took more steps until he was close enough to the smaller Death Eater for Harry to feel Malfoy's damp cloak brush the back of his legs.

"You are not in charge here, Draco." Fenrir said Malfoy's name like an insult. "I am. And until we can contact The Dark Lord, we'll be taking Potter to-"

He was cut short when a powerful red curse hit him. It sent the werewolf, and Harry, sprawling to the ground. The Death Eaters immediately jumped into panicked action, a scrambled mess of shouts and raised wands.

" _Stupefy_!" Harry's heart lifted. Hermione's high, sharp voice rang out across the grounds.

" _Avor contarte_!" A nasty hex, thrown by one of the Death Eaters, shot uncomfortably close to Harry's head. Shit, they were aiming at him as well.

"Harry!" Spells and bodies were flying everywhere, and in his state there was nothing Harry could do but curl into a ball and try and make himself a smaller target as possible.

A muggle, when asked to describe the sounds of a wizard battle, might describe it as an explosion in a firework factory during a busy hour. Screams, bangs, pops and whistles permeated the night. Harry pressed his face into the ground, into the dusty gravel. He could feel the heat from badly aimed curses singe his skin as they passed close.

"Harry!" He heard Ron shout. He didn't dare raise his head to see his friend. There was nothing he could do to help in his injured and bound state, only lie there and hope the good guys won.

He heard a grunt as somebody took a spell then felt a heavy body crash to the floor near him. Okay, at least two Death Eaters were down, including Fenrir Greyback. That left three more against his two friends if Bill and Lupin hadn't appeared to reinforce them. With Hermione on one side, though, the odds felt in his favour.

"Avada Kedavra!" A rough male voice yelled. God, Harry hoped that one had missed. He lay, listening to the sounds of warfare for another second, heart barely beating.

" _Reducto_!" That was Lupin! Harry had to stop himself raising his head to see the arrival of the Order, hope filling his soul. More voices he recognised joined the cacophony; Bill, Kingsley, Neville...

Another body hit the floor near him, and Harry figured the odds were enough in his favour to raise his head and try and move. Sure enough, there were only two Death Eaters stood over him now, battling the five... six... more Order members were apparating in by the second. It looked like they were only a few feet away from the magical barrier preventing apparation on the grounds, as each new contender popped in and ran a short while before joining the frey.

In front of him, a small purple hex, cast by Hermione, hit one of the hooded Death Eaters in the head, sending them falling backwards into Harry.

"...fuck..." The man grunted, raising a pale hand to push his hood back from his face. Draco Malfoy. He glanced back at Harry, who noted a fresh, painful looking red burn standing stark against the white of his forehead. Harry, taking the opportunity, headbutted the other man.

"Fuck!" Draco reeled back, stumbling to his feet. Harry laughed.

"Fuck you Malfoy! You've lost!" It was seeming that way. The other hooded figure was holding their own against twelve Order members now, having cast a rather impressive and powerful shielding charm that was covering the three of them.

"Draco!" The other Death Eater was a woman, who, hands shaking as she held the charm up, looked over her shoulder at Malfoy. "Draco, there's a portkey in my pocket! Take it!"

"Arella-"

"Take it Draco!" She shouted, panic in her eyes as one of the curses Hermione threw visibly weakened the shimmering shield. Malfoy took a step towards her, then looked back at Harry. Harry, seeing where this was going, struggled to sit up, using his aching shoulder muscles to push himself back.

"Don't you fucking dare..." He spat. Malfoy frowned at him, then seemed to make up his mind, shoving his wand into his waistband and striding back towards Harry.

"No!" Harry yelled as the pale Death Eater leaned down and grabbed him under the arms, half dragging and half carrying him over to where Arella was still stood, staring back at them with a pale face. Harry kicked and twisted but he was still weak, everything hurt.

"Where will it take me?" He heard Malfoy ask as they reached her. Harry fought against the bindings on his wrists, ignoring the burn as they tightened.

"A safe place. Wait there, someone will find you and bring you back to him. Go _now_ , Draco!"

Malfoy released Harry, letting him fall hard to the floor, then reached a hand into Arella's cloak pocket. Harry could hear shouts from the other side of the shield.

"Hermione!" He shouted back. "Ron! They have a portkey! They have a portkey, quick-"

Malfoy brought his hand from the woman's pocket, clutching what looked like a thick, silver pin.

"How-"

" _Portis_!"

As Harry opened his mouth to once more desperately plea for his friends, Malfoy gripped his shoulder. The portkey activated and the world dropped away.

He landed heavily, a lance of pain shooting through his shoulder. The first thing he noticed, besides the pain and nausea, was the cold. If he'd thought it was cold on that autumn night in England, he was wrong.

He was lying in snow, his bare skin burning where it touched.

"F.. fuck..." It was also a lot lighter here. Wherever they were, they'd changed time zones.

"Potter..." Harry turned his head to see Malfoy, the black of his cloak a stark contrast to the white of snow, kneeling a few feet away from him. Unfortunately, the motion sent his head spinning, and, just as the world dropped away from him when they'd portkeyed, it fell away as he blacked out.

When he woke the cold was gone, but the pain remained. He was lying on what felt like wood, his hands still tied behind his back. Harry groaned as he tried to move and an intense heat radiated from his shoulder. He opened his eyes. The sunlight from earlier was gone too. He was inside some sort of a wooden room.

"God..." His shoulder hurt a lot, enough to make him try and modulate his breathing to disturb it less. Malfoy was nowhere to be seen. "...damn." Taking a deep breath and steeling himself, Harry tensed his abdominals and sat up.

"Mmmmmm." Harry pushed down a scream through clenched teeth. "Fucking hell."

The room was small, and furnished only with a small bed against one wall. White sunlight shone through a small window, blocked only by some old looking lace curtains. There was no carpet, and no paintings hanging on the wall. The door, made from the same wood as the rest of the room, was shut and presumably locked.

Harry closed his eyes to listen carefully. He could hear nothing from outside the room.

The floor was very uncomfortable beneath him. The bed looked inviting, a soft, white cushioned blanket covering it. Harry didn't know whether or not he could get up to walk to the bed. His head was still spinning, and every single part of his body hurt. He looked down at his feet.

"Shit." They looked terrible. Red and swollen around the cuts and scratches, the skin was taut and shiny. There was probably still little pieces of wood and stone embedded in the soles. He was only thankful that they were relatively numb. The back of his leg was also swollen around a thick, ropey welt which had stopped bleeding but was looking uncomfortably purple.

All up his legs were little scratches, and a very obvious series of claw marks at the top of his inner thigh where Fenrir Greyback had held him.

Harry couldn't see his wrists, but the pain told him they were definitely lacerated by the charmed ropes. His shoulder, by far the most immediately painful part of him, was dislocated if he was any judge.

Harry was, by any definition of the term, fucked. Wandless, naked and beaten, and being held captive at some unknown location by Draco Malfoy of all people. In all the four years he'd been fighting in this war, he'd never been in a situation quite so hopeless.

He gave up on the idea of standing before he'd even tried, and instead resorted to slowly and painfully scooting himself backwards until he could lean against the wall.

"Fuck me." He closed his eyes, resting his head back. He'd rest for a while and try and figure an escape plan out when he wasnt feeling quite so shit.

"Potter. Wake up."

Harry woke with a start. He'd slipped gently down the wall in his sleep, and was laid on his uninjured shoulder. His hands, still tied behind him, had fallen asleep themselves, and felt like chunks of dead meat attached to his arms.

"Marllr." Harry's mouth, dry and cracked, refused to form a word. Malfoy looked down at him in disdain, an eyebrow raised.

"Here." He placed a glass of water on the floor a few feet away from Harry.

"...'ck off..." Harry closed his eyes, choosing to ignore the other man.

"You need to drink something." Malfoy stated. Harry began to drift off again. He was feeling quite hot now, and with all pressure off of his dislocated shoulder, quite numb.

"Potter."

Harry heard footsteps, then an intense, blinding pain shot through him as Malfoy grabbed his arm.

"Aargh!" He choked, wrenching away, all tiredness having escaped him. Malfoy, shocked at his reaction, let go of him and took a step back.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Was that a serious question? Harry was more than aware he looked like minced beef. His shoulder pain faded slightly and, panting, he rested his head back down. Malfoy stood, staring at him for a moment in silence.

"You need to drink." What was with these stupid statements? Harry's hands were tied behind his back by Malfoy's own curse. "Fucking pathetic." Hah. Insults. Malfoy seemed to get more and more frustrated as Harry ignored him, until he snapped. "Fine. _Levicorpus_."

Harry gasped as he was lifted from the floor. As he reached knee height, Malfoy used his wand to direct the other man over the floor and to the bed. Harry squeezed his eyes shut and braced himself for the pain of being dropped onto it, but instead the Death Eater lowered him gently down onto the soft wool.

Harry suddenly felt very exposed, lying on his side, hands tied, on the bed as Malfoy approached him, but he had no defence.

"Fuck off." He managed to spit. Malfoy ignored him and leaned over him. Harry's breathing increased and his heart rate span out of control at the proxmity. He could feel Malfoy's cloak trailing over him as the blonde muttered something, wand pointed.

Harry's hands were released. In his shock, he didn't move as Malfoy pulled the ropes from his wrists, stinging and hurting as they dragged over the wounds they'd made.

Malfoy didn't do anything to heal them, but as he straighened up, glancing at Harry's accusatory face, he reached a hand out to lightly touch Harry's dislocated shoulder. Harry hissed as a bolt of pain greeted the gentle brush. As if this was what Malfoy was looking for, he nodded to himself, putting his wand away and looking Harry in the eye.

"This will hurt."

"Fuck you."

In a swift motion, the other man gripped Harry's shoulder with one hand, his arm just above the elbow with the other and jerked it sharply up and back. Harry almost screamed with the pain, burying his face into the blanket to smother it. Then, the intense agony was gone.

Panting, Harry moved his arm slightly to test it. Nothing. Malfoy had relocated it. With shaking hands, Harry slowly brought both arms in front of him, for the first time since they had been bound together in the dungeon, however long ago that was.

His wrists were, as he'd suspected, a mess. Deep wounds encircled them, half burns and half gouges, they were cracked and bleeding where Malfoy had removed the ropes.

"Ow." He looked up as Malfoy moved away from him and retrieved the glass of water from the floor where he'd placed it earlier. Harry followed his motion with narrowed eyes as the blonde walked slowly back towards him and proffered the glass.

"Drink." He was not proving to be a man of many words, quite the stark contrast to the mouthy teenager Harry had known in school. Harry reached out and took the glass, taking a sip of the cool liquid. It was delicious on his raw, dry throat. Malfoy watched him drink. The burn on his head where Hermione's curse had hit looked painful, although Harry had a dozen wounds for every one of Malfoy's. He wondered why the other man hadn't healed it. When he finished the glass, Malfoy wordlessly pointed his wand at it, refilling it. Under intense and uncomfortable scrutiny, Harry drank again. Once he finished that too, Malfoy took the glass from his unresisting hands and, without a single word, turned and walked back through the door. Harry heard a lock click into place.

He sat for a second, replaying the encounter in his head. Malfoy, annoyingly, hadn't betrayed much emotion. Harry wished he had. If the other man had looked angry, sad, scared - any of these, Harry could work how to use it to his advantage. But this stoic apathy... difficult.

Harry sighed.

The light through the window had faded to a purple, then darkened to black, and Harry had slept rather fitfully in the comfortable bed.

Morning broke with no birdsong or bright light, just that same pale whiteness as the day before. Harry's injuries still yielded the same pain as before, but his muscles felt less tense and achey after a night spent on the cotton. He felt itchy and dirty however, covered in mud, dried blood and sweat and still in his black boxer shorts.

He breathed deeply, then sat up. He assessed his injuries again. The most debilitating, and likely to hinder an escape attempt, were his feet. Still swollen and possibly infected, even standing up would probably prove to be unbearable. Harry carefully bent his leg, pulling his foot up to see the underside. Yes, he had been correct, there were a number of shrapnel shards buried there. Harry gingerly ran his finger along the inflamed skin next to one. He could pull it out, no doubt, but it would hurt.

Before he could decide whether or not he was ready for that level of pain again, the door clicked open and Malfoy appeared at it. He seemed surprised to see Harry awake and sat up, and quickly pointed his wand at the injured wizard.

Harry rolled his eyes.

"What do you want?" Malfoy didn't answer, simply scowled at him and walked up, quickly depositing a plate on the bed next to him. It held some stale looking bread and a piece of cheese. Harry couldn't help but snort at the stereotypical prison meal. His stomach, however, growled loudly at the sight of food.

Malfoy whipped around and made back for the door, when Harry had an idea.

"Malfoy!" He called. The Death Eater, dressed now in a simple black shirt and trousers, paused and turned.

"What?"

"My feet..." Harry gestured. "They're infected." Malfoy stared at him blankly.

"So what?"

"So... so aren't you meant to be keeping me alive?" Harry cocked an eyebrow. "Not going to stay alive for very long with blood poisoning, dickhead."

Malfoy stared at him, glancing down to Harry's purpling feet. "You wont get blood poisoning from that." Harry could think of no response to this that wasn't a childish 'oh yes I will.' so remained silent. Malfoy left.

Fuck. Well, it had been worth a try.

He ate slowly, trying to make his stomach believe it was feeling fuller than he was.

"Well, you might as well try, you wuss." Harry mumbled to himself, pulling his foot up once more so he could have access to the sole.

Gripping the tiny edge of a sharp piece of stone embedded in him, he gritted his teeth and slowly pulled it out.

"Dont cry... don't cry..." His mantra was not helping, tears were welling up in the corners of his eyes. The little wound began to bleed as he relieved it of its plug, and he breathed deeply, trying to overcome the pain. It took him a moment to gather himself before he could start to work on another piece, but just as he was about to try, the door opened again.

"Sit back and keep your hands above your head." Malfoy had his wand out and some white linen bandages in his other hand. Harry's stomach leapt. He scooted back on the bed, resting his back against the wall, and lifted his hands to shoulder height. Malfoy seemed to reconsider his decision, glaring at the smug looking Boy Who Lived, but then swallowed and advanced on him.

"Keep still." He muttered, kneeling down.

The situation seemed absurd to Harry. His captor was kneeling at his feet. If Harry thought it would get him anything but a more permanent binding charm and probably a boot in the ribs to go with it, he'd kick the blonde bastard in the face and make a run for the door.

As it was, he gritted his teeth as Malfoy leveled his wand on his feet, a look of concentration on his face.

The next few minutes hurt almost as much as resetting his shoulder had. By the time Malfoy was finished, Harry's eyes were screwed shut and his hands clenched so tightly he'd dug little crescents into his own palms. He opened his eyes when he felt warm water running over his feet.

With his wand, Malfoy cleaned the wounds, then bandaged them. His cold hands were steady and, from time to time, held Harry's feet still as gently as any medi-wizard would. Harry was frankly, surprised that the other man was going to this extreme, but he wasn't about to complain. Anything to get him back on his feet quicker so he could escape.

As Malfoy finished and stood up, a sudden urge came upon Harry.

"Thanks." He muttered shortly. Malfoy stopped and looked at Harry, frowning. Then, as he had every time, turned and left without a word.

Why had he thanked the Death Eater? He was the reason Harry was injured in the first place! He felt stupid. Whatever. Leaning back down, Harry slept again. He needed to get better, needed to heal. He probably had a very limited time in this place before someone came to fetch him and Malfoy and bring them in front of Voldemort.

It was about three days before he could stand up and walk around on his feet. In that time, he and his captor had interacted only when they had to. Malfoy had brought a bucket for him, and it wasnt until that first glass of water made its way through his system that Harry realised what it was for. Relieving himself in a bucket was embarassing but at least he got a small kick every time Malfoy had to walk over to it and, visible disgust on his face, vanish the contents with a wave of his wand.

He ate and drank every crumb and drop Malfoy brought him, anything to get strong again.

On that third day, Harry began to plan.

He walked over to the window for the first time, and drew back the lacy curtains. There was nothing but white outside. He placed a tan hand on the cold glass. He was still barely dressed. Fuck, if there was no other clothes here he was going to have to strip Malfoy before he ventured out into the snow.

He had no idea where he was in the world. A blanket of snow and the faint smudges of a treeline in the distance told him nothing. He could be in Scandinavia, Russia, Canada... he could be in the fucking antarctic for all he knew.

The heat he felt in the room came from all around, the whole building must be artifically heated somehow, although by magic or muggle technology, Harry didn't know.

At about midday, same as usual, Malfoy brought Harry a plate of food. Harry made sure he was still sat on the bed, not wanting to give away his newly found level of mobility. The Death Eater, who Harry noticed was not looking very happy, made to leave the room without a word, but Harry called to him.

"How long are you going to keep me here then?" He asked. Malfoy didn't stop walking, but muttered back.

"Fuck knows."

That was interesting. So Malfoy was as trapped here as he was until someone came to fetch him. Harry sat and tried to figure out how he could spin this to his advantage as he slowly ate the simple meal.

By the fourth day, Harry was sure he had enough strength back to try and make a careful escape attempt. He waited until dark, until Malfoy had been and gone and the sun had set on the small room.

"Fingers crossed." He whispered to himself.

Crossing the room with nary a wince for his once painful feet, he drew a thick, silver pin from where he'd been keeping it hidden in his palm.

The portkey.

Harry had noticed it, rolled under his bed, a few days earlier. Malfoy must have dropped it by accident. Harry had grabbed it and it, alongside that first shard of stone he'd removed from his foot, had formed the basis of his escape plan.

He walked quietly over to the door and knelt in front of the door, staring the keyhole in the eye.

He inserted the pin into the lock alongside the shard. It was fortunate, in a sick way, that such large pieces of shrapnel had found a home in the bottom of his foot, because with a little work, the rock had become the perfect shape for a lock-pick lever.

This was not the first time Harry had been on the wrong side of a locked door without magic to help him out, and whilst Hermione and Ron had been there to help him out the first time, Hermione had insisted they all learn to pick a lock. Thanks, Hermione.

Harry listened carefully for the clicks, then, holding his breath, twisted the pin in the lock. A tiny bit of resistance had him losing hope for half a second, but then it gave and Harry had to stop himself from cheering as the door unlocked.

Straightening up, Harry grabbed the cold steel in his hand and twisted.

The door opened without a creak.

Now was the real gamble. The dark corridor outside the room was inviting, but for all Harry knew Malfoy could have cast a hex on the doorway to catch him as he left.

He suspected Malfoy had been doing that, initially, but the speed at which the man was entering and leaving the room the last few days led Harry to believe that he'd stopped with these extra precautions. Well, only one thing for it. Harry took a breath and stepped through.


	4. Captor, Captive, Captor

**A/N: wayyy another chapter. Will Harry escape from Malfoy and the log cabin of hell? Oh the tension** ** _the tension_** **. again, if you're waiting on tenterhooks for the slash to begin, I'm sorry but this still ain't the chapter for you, but there IS a lot of physical action. I hope you enjoy!**

Autumn is for dying

Chapter 4

The house was dark and warm. The corridor outside his room was no more furnished, bare wood on bare wood. There were two doors to his right, one ahead and a staircase leading downwards to his left. Harry chose the staircase.

Knowing that every step was another chance for the wood beneath his feet to betray him and release a loud creak, Harry's heart was in his mouth for the entire descent.

As he reached the bottom of the stairs, a pleasant smoky aroma gently hit him. The staircase led to a large room, and surprisingly as elegantly furnished as the upstairs wasn't. It was huge.

Harry peered through the dark, mouth slightly agape as he took in the decadence of the room. The ceiling was high and criss-crossed with thick wooden beams, occasionally connected to the floor by enormous, tree trunk like load bearing pillars. Towards the end of the room, he could just about see a kitchen area, separated from the rest of the house by a heavy-set table. Closer to him, resting upon a huge carpet of white fur, sat a grand sofa of dark leather. The low light in the room, and most of the heat, came from glowing coals sat in the centre of a huge open fireplace.

Harry froze as a small sound came from the chairs. Squinting, he could see the silhouette of a head, slumped against the cushions.

God, what was his plan after this point? He was still mostly naked, still didn't have a wand... oh, that was right. His wand.

Harry took a step to one side to get a better view of the sleeping Malfoy.

Harry was painfully aware that the likelihood of just quietly and sneakily pickpocketing the Death Eater for either his or Malfoy's wand was slim to none, but he could hope.

Making a wish on each every pace he took that it wouldn't result in a tell tale creak, he slowly made his way forward.

The heat of the dying fire on his bare skin was delicious as he rounded the sofa.

Malfoy was slouched in an uncomfortable looking position, chin resting on his chest. Harry frowned as he saw no wand either in the other man's hand or abandoned on the chair around him. Definitely holstered then, or tucked into his waistband. Fuck.

Sat there, the blonde didn't look that dangerous. His hair was unbrushed and fell over his eyes, silken and pale like a dolls. There was a blanket screwed up on the chair beside him, but Malfoy hadn't pulled it over himself, Harry noted. Probably wasn't cold enough. He looked dangerously vulnerable, dangerously and definitely falsely - Harry had to remind himself that his old school enemy was the reason he was here in the first place.

To be honest, it had surprised him to see the young blonde as a part of the Death Eater squad pursuing him. In his wandering across the world, Harry hadn't come across him or either of his parents. In fact, since that forsaken night atop the astronomy tower, nobody had reported seeing any of the Malfoy dynasty. Harry had almost forgotten about him. Almost.

Harry froze again as the sleeping man moved slightly in his slumber, his head shifting. If he woke now, Harry would have no choice but to attack him. Fortunately, he remained asleep and unaware of the Gryffindor's presence. Harry took a step, and then another.

He stood over his captor and steadied his nerves. Come on, he said to himself, come on.

Slowly, he reached a hand out to Malfoy's torso. God, this was not going to work. He took a delicate hold of grey cotton and, with the same care one would give to gently tickle a sleeping tiger, lifted it a fraction. His stomach leapt as he caught sight of a wand pressed against pale skin. It wasn't his, but any port in a storm.

Harry hesitated. There was no way he could remove the wand without waking Malfoy. He'd just have to be quick. Summoning all the tense nerves he could, preparing to spring backwards, Harry plunged his hand forward and grabbed the stick.

Malfoy woke with a start and immediately sprang to action, shoving Harry back and reaching for his wand. Or reaching for where it used to be, at least.

"Don't move." Harry, triumph making him lightheaded, stumbled back but kept his arm steady, pointing the stolen weapon back at its owner.

Malfoy, breathing heavily, took an uneven step forward, arms outstretched beside him.

"I said don't move." Harry repeated. Malfoy froze, eyes narrowing. A moment of silence passed between the two of them, gazing angrily into each others faces.

"Well?" Malfoy breathed, his voice still heavy with sleep. He tilted his head slightly. "What's the plan, hero?"

Harry felt a thrill of annoyance run up his spine at the challenging tone. Malfoy was being threatened here, where was the fear? Where was the worry? Fuck, he hated him.

"The plan?" He replied, keeping his voice steady. "Clothes." Malfoy raised an eyebrow, eyes flicking quickly up and down Harry, who felt more exposed than ever.

"Sure. Clothes."

"Now." Harry demanded, flourishing the wand. He wanted nothing more than to get dressed and leave this building. The smell of smoke, once pleasantly musky, was irritating him now he was closer to its source. Malfoy remained annoyingly impassive, his expression giving away nothing but an air of tense patience, like he was dealing with a small child. Just as Harry was about to give up and hex the blonde and find his own clothes, Malfoy slowly turned his back on him and started walking up the stairs.

Harry followed him, keeping his wand trained on his enemy the whole time, very aware that Malfoy still had Harry's own wand hidden somewhere. He hoped not on his person, but kept a curse on the tip of his tongue just in case.

Malfoy stopped at the top of the stairs and glanced back at Harry, nodding with his head to a closed door ahead.

"In there."

"You first." Harry gestured with his wand for Malfoy to lead the way.

The room was not dissimilar to the one Harry had been staying in, a small bed in the corner and a little window throwing moonlight on Malfoy's pale hair. It did, however, have a tall wardrobe where Harry's room had not, and to which Malfoy padded. His hands remained, Harry was pleased to see, slightly raised on either side of him.

Harry moved close behind the Death Eater before he opened the wardrobe door, letting his wand gently poke Malfoy in the back, a little reminder. Malfoy snorted at this.

"Here." He said shortly, swinging the doors open wide to reveal several a plethora of clothes. He looked back over his shoulder at Harry, eyebrows raised. "Clothes."

Quick as a flash, Harry cast the same binding spell on Malfoy that had started all of this, " _Incarcerous_." With a surprised yelp, Malfoy lost his balance and toppled sideways, ropes around his legs and arms. Harry nudged the wriggling man to one side with his leg and stepped to the wardrobe.

A strange sense of modesty had urged Harry to step out of Malfoy's sight to change, but he'd quashed it. The Death Eater had stopped struggling and was laid on his back, staring daggers at Harry.

As Harry pulled off his remaining clothes and hurriedly replaced them, the silence began to feel uncomfortable. He wished Malfoy would stop staring at him, those grey eyes were piercing a hole where they landed.

"You can't apparate away." Malfoy suddenly said. His tone sounded conversational. Harry glanced at him.

"What do you mean?" He asked.

"You don't know where you are. First rule of apparation. You have to know where you are before you can leave." Harry almost laughed.

"Yeah, thanks professor. Any more obvious tips?" What Malfoy was seemingly unaware of was that it wouldn't help even if he had an intricately drawn map and compass, he still wouldn't be able to apparate away. Over the four years since they'd left Hogwarts and despite the desperate and frustrated instruction of Hermione, he'd never quite managed the technique.

"So what's your plan then?" Malfoy demanded. Harry ignored him, pulling a slightly too large t-shirt over his head. He'd slipped Malfoy's wand into his waistband, the cold wood resting uncomfortably beside his hip bone. "You're just going to walk out in the snow? You're going to die, you're aware of that?"

"What the fuck do you care?" Harry snapped back. "No extra credit for managing to kill me? No bonus points for a clean win? Asshole."

Malfoy held his dark gaze on Harry for a moment longer, then turned away, lying on his back to look at the ceiling.

"What? No comeback?" Harry threw at him as he zipped up a coat. It was muggle fashion, oddly enough, a wind and water-resistant design. Harry wondered who exactly the cabin belonged to. Malfoy didn't reply.

After pulling on a pair of boots, thankfully in his size, Harry stopped and considered his next move. Malfoy was right, he had no idea where he was and for all he knew, they were in the middle of the arctic tundra. Walking out into the white was potentially suicide, but he couldn't remain there, waiting for whatever backup Malfoy had been promised. Well, there was one thing he could do.

"Where's my wand?" Harry walked slowly to stand over the bound Death Eater, who transferred his gaze from the ceiling to his towering captor. Then, blinking slowly, he turned his head away. Frustration rose in Harry. "Malfoy." He was ignored. Harry drew the wand from his belt, pointing it lazily down. " _Malfoy_."

Malfoy continued to look at the corner of the room as if it was the most interesting thing in the world. Harry swallowed, then tried to summon his wand. It, quite predictably, failed.

"Shit." He span on his heel, pacing backwards. Malfoy's wand worked well enough for him, but it wasn't his and could at any point fail him. He also couldn't take the risk of just leaving Malfoy in a house with a hidden wand. Trussed up or not, the binding spell wasn't infallible and at some point, the Death Eater would escape and come after him. Harry knew what he had to do, but he didn't want to do it.

"Malfoy you'll tell me where my wand is, or I'll make you tell me." Harry said quietly. As if this was what he'd been waiting for, Malfoy's head whipped around and he stared at Harry with bright eyes, a smile on his face.

"Really? The great Harry Potter, saviour of the light is threatening to torture me?" He laughed quietly. "Well, well, well. This _is_ interesting."

Anger rose in Harry's gut.

"Just tell me where my wand is, Malfoy. It doesn't have to come to this."

"No, no, please. I'm just _dying_ to see what darkness you've got hidden in you. I already got a taste of it, if you recall?"

Harry's blood ran cold as he remembered that night in the Prefect's bathroom. Water on the floor reflecting the silver moonlight. A pained gasp and then the thud of a body as it fell. Blood, so much blood, staining a white shirt and falling dark on pale skin.

"That was an accident..." Harry whispered, more to himself than Malfoy. He was heard, however, and a laugh answered him.

"Sure it was. Left some pretty scars, that accident." Harry's face was growing hot. He was not in control of this situation, and it angered him. "But go on." Malfoy's voice was barely audible as he taunted Harry. "Give it another go."

Harry raised his wand, blood pumping in his ears loud enough to drown out Malfoy's sniggers. Torture. Torture. Torture. The word beat in his head like a drum. Fuck, how was he getting so worked up over this? It was Draco Malfoy. The last time Harry had seen him, he'd been on an assassination mission to kill Dumbledore, and although he'd failed it was still his fault the old man had died.

He was a Death Eater! Harry could see the tattoo, dark against his skin, even as Malfoy's arms were twisted and tied behind his back. Surely that should be enough to assuage Harry of the guilt he was feeling at even the _idea_ of torturing his captive.

But then another memory, of Draco silently washing and binding Harry's feet a few days previously, jumped into Harry's mind. He hadn't had to do that. The current war torn world was so full of cruelty and death, it had made the former Gryffindor so ready to see the good, any good, in people.

He lowered his wand.

Malfoy followed its path with half lidded eyes. There was no surprise on his face. Why would there be? It was the great and good Harry Potter after all. Harry was mildly disgusted with himself even as he turned away. If he wasnt so 'great' and 'good', maybe this whole war could have been over a lot sooner. Nobody else in the world seemed to share his values, after all.

He let the door click shut behind him and walked back down the stairs to search for his wand.

Half an hour of searching revealed nothing except for an almost certainty that this cabin belonged, or had at some point belonged to a muggle. The kitchen was full of electrical appliances and Harry spotted what he was sure was a wifi box stuck to a wall.

"Fuck." He wandered back over to the sofa and sat down on the edge. He had been keeping an ear on the upstairs and had heard nothing from the room he'd left Malfoy tied up in, but knew the bindings wouldn't hold for much longer. He needed to find his wand and get out of the place.

Taking a breath, he got up and walked away from the radiant heat of the fireplace and half-jogged back up the wooden stairs. There were two rooms he hadn't entered up there, two rooms his wand might be in. The door ahead of him as he ascended was still shut, and he ignored it and swerved to his left.

Like the others, the door was unlocked and opened with a clean swing. A king sized, four posted bed sat squat in the centre of the room like a fat toad atop a lily pad. The decoration in this room matched that of the ground floor, with a heavy fur rug beneath his feet and paintings on the walls.

Harry quickly opened drawers and rifled through cupboards. Whoever lived in this room had expensive tastes, he found jewellery and furs everywhere he looked. But he didn't find his wand. Frustration left him angry. He kicked out at the bed, wincing at the loud bang.

" _Accio_ wand!" He tried again, waving Malfoy's wand wildly. Still nothing.

The corridor was still thankfully empty, as Harry hurried to try the final room. It had to be in here. It _had_ to be.

"Wow." The final door opened onto a storage room for what looked like skiing equipment. The walls proudly bore padded overalls, hats, goggles, skis and snowboards.

That meant they were on a mountain, or near one. It didn't reveal much more of the location than Harry could have guessed, but it did at least thankfully let him know they weren't at the North Pole. Although he was already pretty certain his wand hadn't been hidden in this room, Harry still looked, disturbing small clouds of dust as he moved the equipment.

"Damn it." Nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing.

Harry span slowly and dejectedly to leave. He was just going to have to leave with Malfoy's wand, there was nothing for it.

He made it halfway down the stairs before he was attacked.

A curse hit his back, feeling like the sharp crack of a whip. Gasping in pain, Harry lost balance and tumbled head over feet. Throwing his arms up to try and save his neck from injury, Harry landed in pain on his back.

Footsteps rang out as someone heavily ran and jumped down the stairs after him. Harry, not allowing himself a second to regain composure, half rolled and half flipped backwards, leaping to his feet and raising the wand.

" _Stupefy_!" A red flash of light shot towards him, but he was already prepared.

" _Protego_!" The 'students' blocking spell served him as well as it ever had, deflecting the jet away from him to be absorbed by the wood of the cabin wall. Malfoy, without hesitation, came barrelling down the last few step and jumped at him.

Harry was surprised by the immediate physical attack, and barely had time to twist to one side. But he did, and Malfoy flew past him and crashed into the wall.

Harry repeated the stunning curse Malfoy had thrown at him, wordlessly, but his aim was off and it hit a painting on the wall, leaving a glowing burn mark.

Malfoy growled, pushing off of the wall and running back towards Harry, raising his arm. Harry, spells forgotten, answered his approach with a kick to the other man's legs. Malfoy stumbled, wincing and gasping, but didn't fall, and used his momentum to land a solid punch around the side of Harry's head.

The blow left Harry seeing stars, and before he knew what was happening a heavy hit to his chest left him sprawling on his back.

" _Expelliarmus_!" His own signature move was successful against him, the wand held loosely in his hand went whipping away to land somewhere on the other side of the room. Harry, cursing himself, rolled to one side as Malfoy aimed a kick at his side, and pushed up. He sprinted across the room, feeling the wind of a hex fly by his head.

He could hear the Death Eater close on his tail and knew the next spell wouldn't miss.

"Fuck you!" He grunted, stopping shortly and spinning around, fist at head height. He didn't expect it to work, but it did and Malfoy was thrown to the floor as Harry's hand connected with his jaw. Harry followed him down, kneeling on the other man's torso and grabbing his shirt with one hand, pinning his wand arm with the other.

Malfoy, a smudge of blood from his mouth to chin, was wild eyed and panting. He kicked out and bucked up, trying to dislodge Harry.

Harry knelt hard on Malfoy's stomach, feeling no small amount of relish as he saw the blonde wince and gasp for breath in response. Harry tightened his hand around Malfoys wrist and tried with all his might to lift and then smash his hand to the floor, trying to get him to release Harry's wand.

It worked, but as Harry let go of his hand to hit Malfoy, he was kicked hard in the ribs and fell.

Malfoy was on him in a second.

Harry threw his arms up to defend his face as the larger man attacked. Regardless, he caught a fist to the jaw and blacked out for a moment, stunned. Malfoy used the pause to his advantage, lunging over to reclaim Harry's wand and stab it at his face.

"Don't fucking move!" He grunted. Harry, panting and blinking the stars from his vision, almost ignored the threat. He reached and gripped Malfoy's wand arm with one hand and went to swing at the blonde's bruising face with the other.

"I said-" Malfoy wordlessly released a stinging hex from the tip of the pale wand, hitting Harry just under his eye. Harry nearly screamed as it burned across his face and he released Malfoy's arm to claw at his own cheek.

" _Petrificus totalus_!" Shit. Harry was frozen in his agony. The stinging hex crept across his skin, leaving it red and hot before passing. Still sat astride him, Malfoy let out a breath, his face clearing.

"You little shit." He commented, almost casually, the wide eyed crazy expression from before gone as if it never existed. He glanced down at Harry as he touched a finger lightly to his own bleeding mouth. Harry could do nothing but stare up at him with hate filled eyes. Malfoy sat back, sighing.

"You nearly had me for a second there." He commented. Harry cringed inwardly as he reached a pale hand to his face, touching the still-raw skin beneath his eye where the curse had hit. "Bet that hurt."

He withdrew his hand slowly, staring down at Harry as if waiting for something. Then, abruptly, he stood and walked out of Harry's sight.

Harry attempted, fruitlessly, to move. He hated this curse. It was a childish little hex, just strong enough to temporarily paralyse anybody, but weak enough to be useless for long term restraint. He would be able to move in maybe another minute. But a minute was too long, as Malfoy walked slowly back into his line of sight, carrying his own wand as well as Harry's.

He exhaled and crouched down beside Harry's head, gently flicking a sweaty strand of the prostrate man's hair from his eyes with the tip of a wand. Harry began to regain feeling in his legs, and it caught Malfoy's attention as his ankle twitched.

"Time up then." He said, standing. " _Stupefy_." Harry fell into darkness.

When he awoke, he was bound tightly once more, with his back to one of the heavy load-bearing beams positioned throughout the cabin. His head ached and his face hurt, and the ropes strapping him to the wood were uncomfortably tight against his chest. He groaned, tilting his neck from side to side and hearing it crack.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty." Harry's eyes closed in dismay at the voice. Malfoy walked around the pillar and stood before him, looking down. He had clearly washed since the night before, his face no longer bearing the sweat and blood of their fight and his hair damp against his forehead. Carrying a steaming, he carefully folded his arms. "And how are we after our little escape attempt?"

Harry lunged forward, gritting his teeth. The ropes had no give, and he simply hurt his neck jerking against it. He continued to strain, however, his legs kicking out and slipping on the hardwood floor.

Malfoy laughed.

"Really?" His casual dismissal of Harry's struggle only infuriated him further and he writhed and wrenched against his bondage until he couldn't anymore. Malfoy watched him in silence until he stilled.

"Are you finished?"

" _Fuck you_ , _Malfoy_."

"Yeah, you too." The Death Eater turned to grab a chair and pull it forward until he could sit on it facing Harry.

Harry leaned his head back against the pillar, his exertions having left him breathless. His head was pounding. "What are you getting out of this?" He asked, more for something to say than actually wanting to know. Like he didn't know already. Kudos with the grand nutter himself, Voldemort.

To his surprise, Malfoy actually seemed to consider the question, tilting his head slightly in a gesture of thought.

"It's my job." He finally said, shortly. He took a long drink from his mug, leaning back and crossing his long legs.

"Your job?" Harry asked, incredulously. "What the fuck?"

"Oh yeah? What were you getting out of poking around Hogwarts in the first place?" Malfoy countered. Harry snorted.

"As if you don't know. It was your trap we fell into."

Malfoy shrugged. "Trap wasn't set for you. It was for any idiot who fell into it. You really think The Dark Lord would send Fenrir Greyback to capture _you_?"

"What do you mean?" Harry doubted Malfoy was telling the truth, but he was interested in the lie nonetheless.

"As far as I'm aware, the bounty on your head comes with an 'alive and unspoiled' contingent." Malfoy sighed as though bored by the whole concept. "And if you really were too thick to realise, your stay in Greyback's care would hardly leave you _unspoiled_."

The suggestion in the word sent a shiver running down Harry's spine. He remembered the feeling of Greyback's claws on his chin, his hot breath on Harry's face, his cruel hands on Harry's thigh... suddenly Harry wondered if his abduction by Malfoy might have been the luckier of the options that had been laid out before him.

Harry considered the knowledge he'd been given. So Voldemort wanted him alive. He wasn't sure whether or not this surprised him. Sure, once upon a time it had seemed like the insane warlord had been set upon killing Harry himself, but over the years the Death Eater brigades that had followed and attacked the three of them hadn't seemed particularly reserved in their curses. In fact, Harry had been put out of action for several months after quite a nasty battle in Poland. Blood loss had nearly finished him off, thanks to a sick little curse from none other than Bellatrix LeStrange.

Maybe Draco was running on old information? That would mean he was pretty out of the loop, perhaps even in The Dark Lord's bad graces? There was that little overshare he'd heard Greyback throw at Malfoy, that Narcissa had made some sort of sacrifice on his behalf?

Harry had too much information and entirely not enough to form any real theory about the blonde sat before him.

"How long are you going to keep me here for?" Harry ground through gritted teeth. Malfoy didn't answer for so long Harry didn't think he was going to, but eventually he took a long drink and shrugged lazily.

"Until someone realises _you're_ missing, realises that _I'm_ missing and puts two and two together." He said, standing. "I guess you can hope it's one of your guys who makes the connection first." Malfoy leaned forward slightly. "But it probably won't be."


	5. Lost In The Blizzard

**A/N: woo i got a review. that's nice C: so, in this chapter, will Harry finally make good plan? or will he just keep falling in circles? is he really hella dumb? yes. I meant for a little draco-centric plot point to be revealed in this chapter, but the Harry whumping ended up taking longer than I thought, so that little nugget will be NEXT chapter. I hope you like it! If you wanna review, that would be nice 3**

Autumn is for dying

Chapter 5

Harry spent the rest of the day sat on the floor, tied to the post, watching Malfoy potter around the cabin doing a whole lot of nothing. Evening came slowly, the sky beyond the window fading through oranges, reds and eventually blues and purples, until, once more, night fell.

Malfoy, having ignored Harry all day, lit a fire beneath the grand mantlepiece and sat heavily down on the sofa before it.

"Are you really just going to leave me tied here?" Harry called over to him. His legs were dead, his butt was numb and he'd had to pee for a good few hours now.

"Yes." Malfoy called back without looking over to him.

"I have to use the toilet." Harry said. Malfoy rolled his head sideways, eyeing Harry with narrowed eyes.

"You sound like a child."

Harry shrugged. "I've been sat here all day. Either you let me go to the toilet or I piss myself and you live with the fucking smell." He was fed up. Malfoy made a disgusted expression, tutting under his breath, and slowly pushed himself off of the sofa.

He walked to Harry, drawing his wand from his waistband. Harry wondered where he'd stashed the other wand this time.

"If you try anything, and I mean anything, Potter, I'll keep you petrified for the duration of your stay. You can lie in your piss and shit and fucking rot."

Harry raised an eyebrow at the threat. Malfoy stood in front of him, an expectant expression on his face. Eventually Harry realised he was waiting for a reply.

"Yes, fine, whatever." He muttered.

Malfoy vanished his bindings with a flick of his wand. "Slowly." He warned.

Using the wooden pillar as leverage, Harry stood up. Slowly was the right word, he couldn't have sped up if he'd wanted to. His legs were wobbly from being sat in the same position all day and his whole body still ached from the various beatings he'd taken over the last week.

Malfoy watched him in silence, eyes dark and expression unreadable. He kept his wand trained on Harry.

Harry took a step away from the pillar and nearly fell over. His face heated with embarassment.

"Do you need me to levitate you?" The Death Eater deadpanned.

"Fuck off, Malfoy." Harry snapped. Leg muscles quivering, he took a breath and tried to move again. This time he got two steps before stumbling forward. To his eternal shock, Malfoy lunged and caught him under one arm. Waiting a moment for Harry to regain his balance, wand still pointed at Harry's face with his free hand, Malfoy slowly released him.

"Can you or can you not walk?" He asked. Harry kept his gaze on the floor. The only reason he was currently upright was sheer willpower. His face burned.

"No." He said, barely a whisper. Malfoy let out a frustrated breath, then reached out an arm.

"Well?" He snapped. Harry swallowed heavily, his bursting bladder overtaking his pride, and carefully snaked an arm over the taller man's shoulder.

They walked awkwardly back towards the kitchen, Harry stumbling but completely supported by Malfoy, who was stronger than he looked. The bathroom lay beyond the kitchen sink, and he was half walked, half dragged in. Malfoy deposited him heavily on the toilet, then took a step back.

"I trust you can take it from here?" He asked, a pale eyebrow raised.

"Yes!" Harry replied sharply, and he was left alone in the small, windowless room.

They made their way back across the cabin with more ease, Harry's legs having woken up and the struggle now only arising from the lingering injury pain. As they approached the pillar he'd been previously bound to, he expected to be instructed to sit once more, but was surprised when they carried on to the chair that Malfoy had perched upon.

"Sit." Harry did so without question, but his expression must have given away his curiosity because Draco shrugged.

"I'm not carrying you to the toilet again. Hold your hands out."

With an incantation Harry didn't recognise, Malfoy bound his wrists together with some sort of seamless black tape. He repeated the spell on Harry's ankles, knees, and with a wide sweep of his arm, around Harry's whole torso and around the back of the chair. It wasn't uncomfortable as such, but Harry couldn't even wiggle. Malfoy stepped around him then, causing Harry's stomach to drop and a surprised exhalation to leave him as he unceremoniously tipped the chair back and began to drag it across the floor.

He placed him opposite the sofa, upon which he sat back down. He looked into Harry's eyes for a long moment. Harry thought he looked tired.

His hair was the same baby blonde it had been at school, but was longer and somewhat shaggier. His face, once baby smooth and angular, was now older and rougher, like Harry's. Still taut and pale, a faint scar ran up from below his collar up to curve above his jawline. Harry wondered what had happened, before the sinking realisation hit him that it had been his own handiwork.

That fateful evening all those years ago had never really left him, and scarred his insides as much as it had scarred Malfoy's out. Harry had cursed many Death Eaters in his time, but that had been his only experience leaving a sobbing, vulnerable teenager bleeding on a cold, wet floor.

Harry's eyes slowly and unabashedly continued their path, examining the man sat before him, who appeared to be doing the same. Malfoy's jaw, where it wasn't scarred, was coated with a fine, pale layer of stubble, and his eyes were lined with dark purple hollows.

Death Eater life, Harry noted, didn't appear to be suiting him. The only thing about the former Slytherin that hadn't changed was his eyes. The same silver-grey gaze stared steadily back at Harry, who almost found himself flushing from the intense inspection.

"Had a good look? I'd tell you to take a picture, but..." Malfoy finally said, but it had no venom behind it. It was almost like he was just being insulting out of some sense of propriety. Harry frowned slightly. What had changed? Besides the world?

Finally, Malfoy broke off his stare to smoothly twist and lie on his side, folding his arms and closing his eyes.

It took Harry a long time to fall asleep, but fall asleep he did and he dreamed of green flashes and screams.

Harry expected the next day to go one of two ways, either the same intense boredom, punctuated here and there by insults from his captor, or the game to be over and Death Eaters to burst through the door and take him to his death. The two polar options held similar weight in appeal for Harry. He was bored.

One thing that was striking him as odd was how calm his scar was being. He'd grown used to a semi-regular burst of pain from the thing, mini-migraines hitting him once or twice a week. But in all the time he'd been held in the cabin, he'd only been feeling a faint ache here and there. It was a strange relief.

The day ended up following a previously unknown third path. Malfoy was brewing a rather pungent potion over the fire.

"That smells foul." Harry commented, twisting his head around to see what the Death Eater was doing over the behind him. Malfoy only grunted in response, deep in concentration.

"What the hell is it?" Harry wondered aloud. And where had he gotten the ingredients from in this very muggle cabin? Unless he'd left while Harry was sleeping, the man had remained in or close to Harry's sight the whole time.

They'd been in the cabin for about two weeks at this point. As each day went by, the little twist in Harry's gut that betrayed worry grew and grew - surely as time went on the likelihood of the pair of them being discovered by the rest of the Death Eaters grew larger.

A particularly foul wisp of smoke blew by Harry's face, leaving him coughing and spluttering.

"Malfoy..." He choked, the vapour stinging his eyes, "I can't - I can't breathe -"

The blonde quickly got up and walked around to him. The smell grew stronger and stronger, and Harry realised it was coming from a dessert spoon the Death Eater was carefully carrying in front of him.

"Open wide." Malfoy said, his voice muffled by a cloth he'd tied around his mouth and nose. His eyes were bright and piercing above the dark material, and slightly red where the vapour was getting to him too.

Harry coughed, doubled over trying to find air. "What?!"

He was abruptly pulled up by a strong hand fisted in his hair. Malfoy leaned over his upturned face.

"Drink." The spoon, which Harry could now see held a shimmering black fluid, was held so close to his face it was bumping against his lips. The metal was hot and Harry had to stop himself from hissing in surprise, keeping his mouth firmly shut. "Drink!" Never.

Malfoy, tutting in frustration, released Harry's hair and instead gripped him, hard, around the face, trying fruitlessly to open his jaw with one hand. Harry, screwing his eyes shut against the stinging smoke, refused to let him.

His face was let go, and Malfoy stalked back around him to throw the spoon somewhere. The glop it made when it landed let Harry know that 'somewhere' was back in the bubbling cauldron.

" _Callisma_." A painless hex hit Harry in the back of the head, and to his horror, he felt his whole body going limp. His head tipped forward to touch his chest, and his eyelids closed slowly. His clenched hands relaxed, no longer digging gashes into his palms. His breathing slowed and for a second, Harry worried he'd continue relaxing to the point where his lungs would gently stop working.

Thankully the hex didn't lead to that point, leaving him entirely defenceless but totally alive. Unable to open his eyes, he could only listen as Malfoy retrieved the spoon from the cauldron and carefully walked back to his front.

He could give no resistance this time as the other man, with a rather warm and wet hand, grasped Harry's chin and tilted his head up. His mouth was opened and the hot, foul liquid tipped down his throat.

He gagged a little, but there wasn't enough fluid to choke him. Malfoy released his head and Harry heard him step back then sit down on the leather sofa.

" _Finite_." Feeling and strength rushed back into Harry's limbs and his eyes sprang open.

"You..." Harry's throat burned and pinprick tears sprang to his eyes. He felt sick at the invasion. Malfoy just watched him. Harry coughed and retched, trying to bring up the slick of potion he'd been forced to swallow. "What the fuck was that?" The potion remained stubbornly down. Fear left his skin tingling. Or was that the effect of the potion? Harry couldn't tell, adrenaline and terror pumping deafeningly through his skull.

"How do you feel?" Malfoy asked calmly.

" _How do I feel_?" Harry spat, shaking. "What did you just pour down my neck you Death Eater prick?" A rush of blood suddenly left his head, leaving him dizzy. "Oh..." His vision whited out and his skin felt cold.

"What's happening?" Malfoy was in front of him, a hand pushing Harry's forehead up.

"My... cold..." Harry gasped for air. Sight returned to him with a bloom of colour and the cold feeling retreated, but he still felt somewhat numb. "What was in that potion Malfoy?"

Draco kept a hand on his forehead for another second until Harry shook his head to throw him off. He retreated back to his position on the sofa.

"I hope..." He hesitated.

"You hope what?" Harry remembered the blonde having some skill in potions, but that was no comfort. Having a skill didn't prevent a potion from doing its intended purpose, and for all he knew his insides could be preparing to melt and seep through the pores in his skin. Malfoy stood and waved his wand at Harry. The black, plasticky bonds that held him tight vanished. Harry stood quickly and glanced down at what was in Malfoy's outstretched hand. Harry's wand.

Without questioning, Harry snatched it.

" _Stupefy_!"

A pause. Then Harry almost fell to his knees as sick realisation hit him. Malfoy was still stood in front of him, a slightly surprised expression on his face.

" _Expelliamus_!" Still nothing. Harry couldn't feel the magic humming in his wand, couldn't feel anything but the cold, dead wood. This couldn't be happening. He lunged and grabbed Malfoy's wand from the man's unresistant fingers.

" _Stupefy_!" Nothing. Harry stared down at the object in his hands, breathing ragged. Malfoy reached carefully out and took his wand back. He didn't bother taking the other.

"What have you done to me?" Harry whispered, horror dripping from every word. He looked up at the taller wizard, eyes wide. Malfoy looked quietly satisfied.

"Bound your magic." He answered. "Quite a complicated little potion really, it took a decent amount of preparation before I could even think about the-"

"You _bastard_!" Harry shoved him, hard. His voice caught in his throat and his eyes burned with tears. This was his worst nightmare. This couldn't be happening. Malfoy fell harmlessly backwards down to the sofa. Harry stumbled backwards, raising his hands to look at them, his own wand falling, forgotten, to the floor. "No..."

Tied to a chair, carried by Greyback, bound hand and foot and locked in a room - nothing else had made him feel as helpless as this. Without his magic he was useless, a weak, thin, pale, waste of a man. His vision blurred as tears stung his eyes.

"No." His hands reached up to grab his hair. His scar was painless but his head had started to pound, throb like an open wound. "Fuck..." Harry's breathing was coming shallow and fast now, nausea rising. He felt trapped, stuck, lost. He had to escape, enough was enough. Turning, he staggered in the direction of the door. Behind him, Malfoy didn't rise from the chair, just followed his path with his head.

"There's nowhere for you to go out there." Harry could barely hear the shouted warning over the sound of his blood rushing in his ears. He reached the door, grabbing the handle with a hand shaking so badly he nearly missed.

"Harry!"

With a wrench, he pulled the door open. An icy blast greeted him. He barely felt it.

He stumbled out into the snow. Malfoy had relieved him of his coat before he'd tied him to the chair and goosebumps quickly sprang up on his tan skin as he walked. But he didn't stop. Snow was falling heavily, but the wind wasn't really that bad. Swallowing and ignoring whatever warning the knot in his stomach was trying to send to him, Harry pushed on forward. His brain was coming up with a blank for his next move, he just knew he had to get out of that house, get away.

Within a few moments his thin shirt was soaked through from the snow, his boots barely high up on his calves to keep the wet cold from reaching to his jeans. And he kept walking into the white.

He could see nothing ahead through the blizzard. Harry didn't care.

But breathing became harder and harder in the cold and the wind started to hurt his skin, on his bare arms and face. It was very cold. But he didn't stop walking.

After twenty minutes or so of stumbling through the tundra, the knot in his stomach had developed into an iron weight. Harry's hysterical determination of before had faded enough for him to realise he might be in trouble. Slowing down, he considered his position.

Where was he going? Anywhere except for an icy death? Without magic, without a direction, without help, how could he survive in this wilderness? Harry finally slowed to a stop.

His skin burned with the cold now. The snow seemed to be getting heavier and the wind stronger. Harry turned back to see the path he'd come from, only for his stomach to drop.

More white. The cabin was nowhere to be seen. He turned, whipping around in every direction. Everywhere he looked, like a man adrift at sea, there was a whole lot of nothing. Shit, shit, shit. Looking down, hoping at least he could follow his own tracks back to safety, he was disappointed. The snowfall was heavy enough that in the few seconds he'd been stopped, his tracks had vanished. He had no idea the direction he'd been walking in.

This was not good.

"Balls." Well, with nothing else for it, Harry picked a direction he felt most like the one he'd come from, and set out.

Violent shivers raced up and down his limbs, and he wrapped his arms around himself, for all the good it would do.

So, his magic bound? What did that mean? The potion had tasted hideous, like... some mix of bile and aniseed. But from what Harry knew of potions, or at least from what he recalled Hermione lecturing, permanance couldn't be achieved from absorption through the stomach lining. This meant that the effects, as dangerous as they were, couldn't be permanent. He just had to wait for the poison to work its way through his kidneys, to be metabolised out of his blood.

The more he thought about it, the more stupid he felt for having walked so far out into this blizzard. His panic was going to get him killed. Speaking of panic, Harry was trying extremely hard to quash a new terror - that of freezing to death in this icy nothingness.

He walked and walked, for longer than he had prior to his pause. That meant he wasn't walking in the right direction. Breathing was getting hard now, the cold constricting his lungs. Harry looked down at his hands, stretching out in front of him. His skin was blue where it wasn't white. This was not good.

Harry turned and, picking a direction at random, started walking again. This time, he wasn't moving for long before he found himself slowing unintentionally. Energy was seeping out of his body as the heat had. Oh god, he was going to freeze to death. He could laugh at the stupidity of it all.

Before long with the wind beating at his face and whipping his hair around in icy fury, Harry could walk no longer. He stood, head bowed and eyes scrunched shut against the stinging cold. He felt dizzy, like the blood was freezing in his veins and stopping oxygen from reaching his brain.

Harry no longer felt pain from the cold, and whilst this was a sick relief, he knew it was a bad thing.

A buffet of wind overbalanced him and Harry dropped to his knees. So. This was it. Hermione would be so disappointed. Ron... actually Ron would have probably understood the urgency to leave the building, and the blonde Death Eater inside at all costs.

Harry hoped they were okay. Hoped that, even after he was gone for good, they kept fighting. Never gave up.

He curled over, taking small breaths through his nose. Fuck, this was unfair.

"There's easier ways to kill yourself." Harry hadn't the strength left to jump at the voice, loud next to his ear. He felt hot breath on his face and strong arms grab him under his arms. CRACK.

They were still out in the snow, his saviour grunting, lifting Harry's whole weight, pulling him close to his chest. CRACK. Still in the snow, but as Harry opened his eyes just a sliver, he could see, through unfocused vision, the cabin not too far away. CRACK.

Warmth.

Malfoy dragged Harry in front of the fire, laying him down not ungently on the fur rug.

"Stupid fucking Gryffindor." Harry didn't move, letting the heat wash over him. It felt like heaven after the hour he'd spent stumbling through the blizzard. He felt Malfoy shifting beside him then flinched as cold hands touched the skin at his waist, pulling his sodden, freezing shirt up.

"Get... off..." Harry raised his hand to weakly swat at him, and was completely ignored.

"You're freezing, you moron." Malfoy said shortly. "Do you want frostbite?" Harry did not, but he also didn't want the Death Eater undressing him. He didn't, however, have much choice in the matter at that moment.

To his embarassment, he was stripped entirely and left in front of the fire with nothing but a blanket covering him. He pulled it tightly around himself, closing his eyes and letting the fire cure him.

He awoke to the smell of food cooking. Completely dry, warm and not tied up, Harry sat up quickly, then just as quickly grabbed the blanket as it fell past his hips. Malfoy was in the kitchenette, stood over a sizzling pan. He glanced up at Harry, whose heart was beating rapidly.

"Not dead then?" He commented, poking at the air above the pan with his wand. Something in it moved - bacon if Harry's nose was any judge.

"You saved me." Clenching the blanket tightly around his waist, Harry stood up. Malfoy looked down at the pan he was tending, waving his wand softly around it.

"Yes, well..." Malfoy sighed. "Alive and unspoiled, remember?" Harry remembered. And still didn't believe it.

"Right. Sure." He watched as the man lifted the pan and used his wand to guide the contents, a few slivers of bacon, out of it and onto two plates. Replacing the pan on the hob and tucking his wand into his waistband, Malfoy took a plate in either hand and walked over to the sofa, straight past Harry. Confused, Harry turned to watch as he sat down, placing one plate on his own lap and holding the other up, without looking, in Harry's direction. Harry didn't take it, simply waited. The plate didn't waver.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked. Malfoy finally looked up, an eyebrow cocked.

"Eating. Are you not?" He scoffed slightly, "Sorry, was suicide plan B to starve yourself?"

Harry's temper rose quickly and violently and he swatted the plate from Malfoy's hand. He recieved a second raised eyebrow in return for the gesture, then the Death Eater seemed to lose interest and look back at his plate, stabbing a rasher with his fork.

"Suit yourself." He muttered.

"What are you doing?" Harry snapped, yelling. "You... you can't just kidnap me, poison me and then - then cook me fucking _breakfast_ \- pick a fucking team to play on, Malfoy! You cant be good cop and bad cop, that's not how it works!"

"Good cop bad cop?" Draco asked, that same air of apathetic amusedness about him that made Harry want to punch his stupid face in.

"What. Are. You. Doing?" Harry breathed, quietly and darkly. For the hundredth time in two days, he'd really had enough. Malfoy sighed and placed his fork delicately on his plate, reclining back on the sofa.

"I don't need to be _doing_ anything, Potter." He replied, shaking his head slightly. "I mean, I can be locking you back in the room upstairs if you want, although you've already proven you can pick a lock like a common criminal so I fail to see the point in that, especially now I've squibbed you. You've got nowhere to run. Face it Potter. You're stuck here until someone finds us. We can spend that time fighting if you want, but personally I've had just about enough of bruises and bumps. And, lest you forget, you don't have magic and I do. I'll tie you up like a little Christmas present if you want." He shrugged. "There's nothing you can do."

Nothing he could do felt extremely subjective to Harry. He could, for example, leap at the Death Eater, wrestle his wand from him and beat the living shit out of him. Harry wanted nothing more than to do this, but as much as he hated to admit it, he was at the ultimate disadvantage to Malfoy at the moment. He had no magic. That meant no curses, hexes, incantations, binding charms, communication charms... Nothing. With great willpower, Harry forced himself to stop staring daggers at the seated blonde and instead, take a seat next to him. His skin was itching with the desire to just give in and attack, but he had to be smart. He had to plan.

Beside him, Draco ignored him and carried on eating. Harry knew Malfoy was convinced that the first people to find them would be Death Eaters. Harry wasn't so sure. If he'd been asked when he was first brought here using a portkey belonging to one of his enemies, he'd have been certain that it would have been no matter for Voldemort to find him. But time had gone on and nobody had arrived.

Harry stared into the fire, watching the orange flames dance and writhe. The troop that had captured him... Fenrir Greyback, the possibly disgraced Draco Malfoy and three others that Harry had never before come across (and he'd come across many, many of his enemies)... just how low down the ranks was this squad? Low enough for one of them to have a get-away plan that nobody else had bothered to learn? Did Voldemort even know this cabin existed? He was sure that word would have spread about his abduction, even if all of the Death Eaters present at the time were captured by the Order or killed in combat, but if they had no idea of the end point of that little silver pin-portkey, it would be like searching for a needle in a haystack to find the pair of them.

Harry began to feel a tiny spark of hope in his gut. The one thing he couldn't figure out was why Malfoy had done nothing to speed up the search. Surely there was a way for him to let Voldemort or Snape or his father or anyone know where he was? The house was warded, Harry knew that much thanks to his own side's methods of finding one another. There was a handy little tracking charm placed upon his wand, connecting it to anothers - in Harry's case, Bill Weasley. If Harry was missing, he could be tracked through his wand. All it would take would be for him to perform a spell in an open, un-warded area and his location would be revealed to the eldest Weasley. It was why he'd been so insistent on finding his own wand rather than instantly making off with Draco's after he'd initially escaped from the upstairs room.

"You're very quiet. Planning another escape attempt, Potter? Or just another suicide bid?" Beside him, Malfoy had finished his plate of bacon and was watching him with curiosity. Harry didn't give him the satisfaction of a response.

All he had to do was wait, wait for the potion to wear off and seize the opportunity to grab his wand and leave the house. The wind and snow wouldn't matter if he could cast a spell into the night and summon his rescue. Yes. Wait and hope that his curse-metabolism worked faster than the Death Eater search parties.


	6. Confrontation In The Corridor

**A/N: Bit of a wait for this one, I apologise, I've just been trying to figure out how to get certain plot points to roll in motion without sacrificing the quality of the story in the meantime. I like this chapter, it's a lot of talking and figuring out but I think it's necessary. A lot of interaction between Harry and Draco in this one! I mean, they're the only ones in the cabin so it'd be a bit weird if there wasn't...**

 **If you're enjoying this, leave me a comment! I'd love to hear if you're liking how it's developing, it's the first story I've written that's gotten this far :')**

Autumn is for dying

Chapter 6

"None of your business."

"I mean, it actually, really is?" Harry leaned against the kitchen counter, arms folded and eyes narrowed. Malfoy had his back to him, struggling to open a can of beans with a muggle can opener. Harry watched his progress, or lack thereof. Why he wasn't just using magic was beyond the mildly annoyed Gryffindor.

"And how is that?" Malfoy muttered, his attention focused on wrestling the pieces of metal. Harry vaguely recalled seeing Ron having a similar struggle at one of their safe houses in London. The search for Horcruxes had led them far and wide, deep into mountains and jungles, but his redheaded friend was by far the most out of place whenever they'd been forced to lay low amongst muggles. That Ron and a Death Eater shared anything in common at all left Harry with an uncomfortable feeling.

"Why don't you just use magic?" Harry finally snapped. Malfoy paused, glancing back over his shoulder at Harry, a pale eyebrow raised at the sudden increase in hostility. He dropped the can and opener on the side with a loud bang, and turned, folding his arms and mirroring Harry's pose.

"I wanted to see how it worked." He admitted mildly. Harry couldn't believe his ears.

"You wanted to see how a muggle tool worked? You're a Death Eater." This fact was very apparent at the moment, as Malfoy had not bothered to put a shirt on since waking. When Harry had first caught sight of him that morning walking downstairs, he'd almost felt the need to apologise for what he saw. The pale man's chest was marred by several long, silvery white scars, the longest of which he'd already spotted curled just over Malfoy's jawline. Harry's handiwork. But then, as his captor had descended the final step, placing a hand gently on the bannister to steady his way, his Dark Mark had become visible, black ink on white skin, and the urge to apologise had vanished like snow thrown on a fire. It was visible now, too, the curve of the skull peeking out over the top of his forearm.

"I was bored."

Harry snorted, shaking his head. Malfoy sighed, unfolding his arms and propping them up on the counter behind him, leaning back.

"Well if you're bored we could always go for a walk. How about to town? Or better yet, how about back to England? How long would that take, by the way? Couple hours? Couple days?" Harry asked, sardonically. To his surprise, Malfoy snorted, amused.

"Good try." Taken aback, Harry just shrugged, looking away.

"Yeah well..."

"So how is it your business then?" Malfoy suddenly enquired. "Please, I'm all a'quiver." His tone was droll, but his jumping back to the previous conversation belied genuine curiosity.

"How is it my business to know where you've been for the past four years?" Harry asked, frowning. "Oh, I dont know. Maybe because the last time I saw you, you were trying - and failing - to kill Dumbledore? Maybe because me, Hermione and Ron have spent the last half-decade being chased by every Death Eater under the sun, but strangely not you. Or any Malfoy for that matter - is daddy no longer in Voldemort's good books or something?" Harry looked away in disgust. "Jesus, once upon a time I couldn't take a shit without your father showing up to pick a fight." He paused in his rant, suddenly aware he was speaking to a strangely quiet audience. He glanced over at Malfoy, who was staring at him with his mouth slightly open and eyebrows drawn together. "What?"

"You... you saw me?" Malfoy asked, his voice slightly unsteady. "On that night? On the-"

"On the Astronomy Tower, yeah." Harry was confused. "Snape didn't mention it?" At the mention of his former potions master, Malfoy looked even more surprised.

"Snape? I haven't seen him since that night, we thought - I thought - he'd gone over to your side..." What? That didn't make sense, Snape had been gone from the Order's radar as long as Malfoy had. Harry was about to mention this, but something made him keep quiet. The situation was... odd. Harry shrugged, breaking away from Malfoy's confused gaze to glance elsewhere.

"Whatever. You're dodging the question. Where have you been?" Malfoy seemed to come back to himself, standing upright again and rolling his eyes.

"I don't need to answer anything from you. You're the prisoner here, remember?"

"Yeah, like I could forget." Although, aside from his magic-ban and the obvious fact that if he left the cabin, he'd freeze to death, the last few days in the chalet hadn't felt much like prison.

The day Harry had been rescued from the snow, he and Malfoy had, after a while sat in uncomfortable silence, retreated upstairs, each of them claiming a room. Harry had expected Malfoy to lock his door, cast a sealing charm on it, push a wardrobe in front of it - anything - but had been surprised, in the middle of the night when he got up to use the bathroom, that nothing had been done. It was odd, and unsettling. Not that he'd liked it better when he was bound and gagged and carried everywhere, but the lax security measures Malfoy was taking simply proved how in control of the situation the Death Eater obviously felt. And as much as Harry hated this, hated Malfoy for thinking this, he knew it was true. He couldn't leave, couldn't call for help, couldn't attack the blonde when he had magic and Harry had none. All he could do was wait, and it was killing him. The not-knowing was the worst. He was waiting for one of two things to happen; the Death Eaters to catch up or the potion to wear off. There was nothing he could do to prepare for either eventuality except ensure that when the time came, he was ready for action. This was another good reason to not attack Malfoy. Bound and gagged and locked away (as was sure he'd be if he presented as any threat to the Death Eater), he could do nothing to save himself. At least if he played nice for the minute he stood a chance of being mobile when the time came.

"It's my business because I want to know." Malfoy raised an eyebrow at this. "When the rest of the Death Eaters come, when we're found, I'm dead." Harry said, shortly. "So you can't blame me for doing the one thing I can in my final few days; try to satisfy my curiosity."

Speaking of curiosity - Harry watched as Malfoy blinked and looked down slightly when he mentioned his upcoming demise. What was this? Could the blonde feeling regret for his actions? What was his deal?

"I wasn't exactly in the Dark Lord's good books after that night." Malfoy responded. Harry was shocked, he didn't actually expect to get an answer. Draco looked up at him, grey eyes dark. He looked somewhat vulnerable, and a strange pang went through Harry's stomach. "He doesn't tolerate failure." Malfoy said this and seemed to immediately regret it, frowning and backtracking. "Not that he should. I was weak. I should have just killed the old loon and had done with it..." Anger rose in Harry's throat at his, but he swallowed it down. Punching Malfoy now would get him nothing - freedom nor answers. "But..." The other man sighed, looking up at the ceiling. "He was very angry. And I, rightfully, had to be punished." Malfoy seemed to be trying to convince himself of the rightfulness in this as much as he was Harry. "I spent a few years in the dark before my mother... before my mother convinced him that I was better use serving him in the field than locked away out of sight and mind." His mother... what had Greyback said? Narcissa's sacrifice? How had she convinced Voldemort exactly?

Half plans and ideas began to form in Harry's head as he listened to Malfoy talk, watched his face contort with the effort of keeping the mask he was so clearly wearing, on.

"I think what helped that was you'd just started being fucking annoying in Ethopia, actually." Malfoy looked back up at Harry, meeting his eyes. "I heard you, and the Order, managed to kill a dozen Death Eaters - a dozen of us - " Harry noticed the slip, " - in one battle?" If Harry didn't know better, he'd have said Malfoy seemed fractionally impressed at this feat.

Ethiopia. Harry still had unfinished business there, but the battle Draco was speaking of had forced them to abandon their mission early. They'd been there on the tip of a portrait that had resided for a while in one of Voldemort's (or, more accurately, Tom Riddle's at that point) old mansions. Apparently, Voldemort had spoken to his followers, in the painted shepherdesses presence, about something he'd hidden in a museum in the African country. Hermione had tracked down the most likely place and they'd gone there, only to be surprised by a veritable platoon of Death Eaters. Luckily, Lupin had insisted on accompanying them, and bringing several Order members along for backup. They'd needed it. It was true that they'd killed many of the Death Eaters, but they'd lost several of the Order in the process, including, to Harry's great shame and regret, his old school friend Dean Thomas.

Sadness aside, however, it made sense for Voldemort to want as many Death Eaters in the field after that as he could - Hermione had come to the conclusion that it was at this point that the Dark Lord had finally realised they were going after his Horcruxes. They'd never come as close to finding one after this point as they had in the past. At every turn, at the end of every trail of clues there seemed to be a squad of big, bad Death Eaters waiting for them. Culminating in their fruitless and fated search of the abandoned Hogwarts.

"Fifteen, if I remember correctly." Harry corrected the death count. Malfoy nodded, mouth tightening.

"Fifteen. And you say we're bad."

"You're mass murdering terrorists." The response didn't even have an edge to it, Harry stated it as a simple fact. "We were defending ourselves." He wondered when Draco would run out of these recycled excuses. "What happened to your mother?"

"What?" The change was instant. Malfoy tensed up, drawing himself taller. He frowned down at Harry, who made himself remain loose and nonchalant. He wanted the answer, but not at the expense of angering Malfoy.

"You said she convinced Voldemort to let you go. What did she do?"

"That's none of your business." This had a real fire behind it. Bingo. Harry slowly pushed himself from the counter, standing straight.

"What did she have to do for you to go free?"

"That is none of your business." It looked like Malfoy had decided that today's share session was over. He pushed his hands deep into the pockets of his sweatpants. Harry wondered it it was to hide them shaking. Storming past Harry, he didn't stop until he'd left the room, stomping upstairs and slamming the door to his room.

Harry stood for a while, looking after him in silence. What was his next move? The ground floor was silent and still, the can and its opener lying abandoned on the worktop where they'd been abandoned.

Not for the first time that day, Harry reconsidered running to grab a coat and leaving again. But even as he thought it, he glanced over to the window beside the door and saw naught but white. Suicide, yeah.

Only one thing for it then. Harry followed in the Death Eaters steps, albeit slower and less angrily.

He paused before Malfoy's room. Was this the right move? Trying to empathise with his abductor? With Dumbledore's would-be assassin? With a Death Eater and unrepentant Voldemort supporter? Harry shook his head at himself, mouth tightening. He could only imagine Ron's reaction - furious at the thought, frothing at the mouth to get his hands on the former Slytherin and beat the life from him. A large part of him shared the sentiment. But then he thought of Hermione. Of using his head rather than leaping at every gut instinct. Harry knocked.

"Malfoy?" He called. The door swung open a lot quicker than he thought it would, and he took an automatic step back.

"What?" Malfoy said, angrily. He still hadn't put a shirt on and was breathing heavily, his face flush. His hands were clenched beside him, one of them, Harry noted with worry, white knuckled over his wand.

"I..." Harry started, taking a step back. This had been a bad idea. "Never mind." He tried to turn and retreat, but froze as Malfoy whipped his wand up. It was too close to his face and Malfoy was too worked up.

"No," Draco began, his eyes narrowed and furious. "No, please, Potter, do finish." He took a step to Harry, who mirrored it backwards and felt the wall against his back. Shit.

"Mal-"

"Did you want me to spill my heart to you about my mother? Maybe you wanted me to break down, reveal all my deepest secrets?" Harry swallowed as Malfoy stepped closer, his wand lightly touching under Harry's jaw as it had back in the Slytherin common room. His face was inches away from Harry's, he could feel Malfoy's heavy breathing on his face. "Perhaps you thought you could change my mind? Break me down and then offer me a place on your side?" Harry had to look away from the intensity of his gaze, face darkening as his ill-thought out plot was immediately uncovered. "Console me for my losses and teach me the ways of the light?" Malfoy's voice had lowered to a whisper, but each word cut into Harry as if he was shouting. "I'll remind you," Draco paused to tilt Harry's face back to his using the tip of his wand. Harry was forced to look up, up into those eyes - grey and yet liquid silver; hot, blazing, fury. "That you're the fucking prisoner here. And it's only through my blessing that you're walking around right now instead of chained to a fucking wall and locked in your room until we're found. In fact-" He broke off, snorting and smiling like he'd just come to an obvious realisation. "That doesn't sound like the worst idea right now." He stepped back, grabbing Harry by the arm and painfully yanking the smaller man forward. Harry pulled back, panic filling him.

"No, wait-"

"Why? I'm sorry, was that not the reason you came up here?" Malfoy's grip on his arm was hurting and Harry was hyper-aware of the tip of his wand, still centimetres from his jugular. "Am I wrong?" The way he spoke, it was obvious he knew he was not wrong, but he appeared to be on a roll regardless, his eyes angry slits in his flushed face.

"I-" Harry started again, trying to keep his movements small and unthreatening whilst still attempting to pull his arm from the iron grip it was in. Malfoy laughed suddenly, as if he'd thought of something hilarious.

"Did you come knocking on my bedroom door for another reason, Potter?" He spat Harry's name like poison. "A quick hook up maybe?" What? The accusation threw Harry, who spluttered for words. To his surprise, and horror, Malfoy's expression darkened further, and with a quick tug, pulled Harry back against the wall and leaned close in, his wand stabbing Harry in the throat. "Wanting a quick shag, Potter? Rough and dirty with a Death Eater?" Harry didn't know what was going on, but he hated it. "Must admit, it's been a long few weeks cooped up here without any company..." Malfoy's breath was hot on Harry's face and his expression both predatory and mocking, eyes dilated to almost complete black in the dim light. Harry was about to throw caution to the wind and shove Malfoy off of him, when the taller blonde took a step back and lowered his wand, his expression tired. "Fuck off, Potter." He turned without another word and slammed the door behind him.

Harry was left standing, mouth agape, alone in the wooden corridor.

"What the fuck...?" Counting his blessings that he wasn't currently chained to a wall, Harry ran downstairs.

Malfoy didn't reappear for the rest of the day. Harry absently wondered where he was peeing. The snow outside the window had slowed, but not stopped. Where could they be that was locked in a seemingly eternal blizzard? An idea striking him, Harry stood up from where he'd been sat, in a comfortably squashy leather chair beside the window, and wandered over to the kitchen.

The cupboards were all low, beneath the worktops. He sat on the floor in front of one.

"Right..." Harry reached in and pulled out a packet of dry noodles. The plastic in his hands was loud in the silence, crinkling as he turned it over. The bright yellow packaging was covered in tiny black type, and as Harry squinted he could read 'Nouilles aux saveurs de poulet'.

French. But this weather, for this time of year? Even if they were high in the alps it was too cold. Plus, Harry's little wander had confirmed a question he should have asked himself before he left the house, the cabin wasn't actually atop a mountain. Harry had to thank his lucky stars (because he'd never thank Malfoy) that they weren't, as if he'd gone storming off and they were, he'd have been likely to plunge into a ravine or just fall off the mountain.

French, but not in france... okay then. Harry reached into grab another item - a tin. It was another can of beans. Harry was about to dismiss it as he rolled it around slowly, but something caught his eye. 'If this product is in any way unsatisfactory, please send to PO Box 3129, Edmonton, Alberta, T2P 3Z3'. Alberta? They were in Canada!

Harry put the beans back and shut the cupboard. He leaned back on his arms, rolling his head to crack his neck. Canada. This was neither good nor bad news. Sure, there were places in Canada that he could escape to, people who'd know and help him. But Canada was not England, and even if the weather was at a temperature he'd survive, there was a very decent chance he'd starve to death before he ever saw another person.

The day dragged on to its close, and Harry walked very quietly up the stairs to his room. Waking and potentially angering Malfoy was the last thing on his list if he wanted to remain free.

Was Malfoy gay? It was a question Harry had been pondering since his outburst upstairs. The Boy Who Lived was currently slowly cutting a jam sandwich into for, stood trying to subtly sneak glances at the blonde sat on the sofa at the other end of the room, staring into the fire. It wasn't a question he'd ever thought he'd be asking, ever even cared to ask. But what he'd said... Harry supposed Draco could have said the whole thing just to unsettle him. It had worked, if that was the case, but something about the way his eyes had raked up and down Harry, how he'd gently treated Harry's foot, how he'd almost cradled Harry to his chest whilst rescuing him from the white. No, no, Harry was being stupid. Putting meaning where there was none, after all he might have rescued him but only because of the 'alive and unspoiled' mantra he kept repeating. The same went for Harry's foot. If he was gay or not the only thing he wanted from Harry, the Gryffindor knew, was the clout he'd get for capturing him.

It was time Harry tried another plan. His magic still wasnt back three days later. The snow had finally stopped but a window cracked open gently had betrayed that the temperaure was still unbearable. What he really needed was to know where his wand was. The quicker he could find it and get it back, the easier it would be to summon Bill Weasley once he could use it.

"Can I have my wand back?" It was the first thing Harry had said to Draco since the upstairs incident. After hours of deliberating upon manually searching for it (and of course, the Ron within him threw in the idea of beating his captor senseless first) he'd decided to throw fucks to the wind and just ask for it. If Malfoy really believed that his potion had stripped him of his power (and assuming he didn't know of the impermanence via stomach absorption law Hermione had taught Harry) then surely he'd have no problem letting Harry have it? Of course, sheer spite might prevent this. Malfoy, from his seat on the sofa facing the roaring fire, glanced over at Harry, who was sat at his position near the window.

They'd formed a sort of casual truce that consisted of them ignoring each other whilst going about what daily routine they could form in such a situation. Harry would wake with the sun, go downstairs to take a shower, eat whatever breakfast he could scavenge then go take his seat at the window. He'd generally remain there much of the day, taking some time each afternoon to stretch his legs. He'd tried working out to keep himself in shape for whatever fight was to come, but the first time he'd lowered himself to the floor to attempt some push ups, he'd noticed Malfoy's eyes on him and discomfort had made him stop.

Cabin fever was threatening to end Harry before either the Death Eaters or cold could. By his lazy count they'd been confined in the house for two weeks. Malfoy's routines were set forward from Harry's by a few hours - late to rise and late to bed. His preferred seat was on the old sofa, in front of the fire he'd light magically every morning. He, unlike Harry, spent a lot of time in his room upstairs. The times, like right now, when their paths crossed were few and far between.

"Why?" Malfoy asked, lifting an arm over the back of the sofa and turning. "You can't use it. What's the point?"

"Oh, I dont know, because it's mine?" Harry responded, annoyed. He'd just made himself a cup of tea and wandered to the sofa to perch on the arm. Malfoy leaned back a little as he approached, as if Harry's proximity made him uncomfortable. Funny that, after the little scene upstairs. Malfoy stared for a moment, clearly trying to decide if it was worth a fight. Eventually he shrugged.

"Whatever." He reached down, shifting his thin black shirt aside and revealing the wand tucked into his belt. Harry blinked at the sight of his pale torso, then flinched and almost missed the wand thrown at him.

"Thanks." He muttered. Relief rushed through him at the feel of the wand in his hands for more than one reason - not only was it nice to have the familiar shape back in his hands but Malfoy returning it to him spoke volumes about his lack of knowledge about how his potion worked.

Then again, Harry's own knowledge didnt extend much further than knowing that it would, at some point, wear off.

"Why haven't you tried to leave again?" Harry frowned at the unexpected question. Malfoy was frowning at him, hand closed over the leather of the sofa cushion. "Or attacked me? Or done anything?" The way his words tumbled over each other, the way curiosity mingled with anxiety in the man's face told Harry that he'd been worrying over this. It was nice, kind of, to see. That someone else in this house was worried. The apathetically placid demeanor he'd been fooling Harry with had been grating and upsetting.

"Leave to go where, exactly?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow. He shifted, pulling his shirt straight and scratching his neck. How would he explain his behaviour without revealing he knew the potion would wear off? "Last time I left you had to drag me back here before I froze to death. I'm not stupid enough to think walking into a frozen wasteland is a better death than whatever Voldemort has planned." Actually, he was. Harry knew his death, should he be captured, would be a painful, messy and humiliating affair if the Death Eaters got their hands on him. But he wasn't planning on either of these eventualities, after all.

"You've changed." Malfoy said, his mouth turning up at the sides slightly in an imitation of a smile. "The Gryffindor I knew at school would rather die than give up. The great Harry Potter, content to sit pretty until his death comes to claim him?" The Death Eater turned further to face him, pulling a knee up. "Do you really have that much faith in the Order rescuing you before The Dark Lord finds us?"

Harry nodded, grateful for the excuse. "Of course I do. Hermione can do anything." Malfoy snorted at the mention of the witch.

"That little mudblood..." Harry bristled at the insult but said nothing. He looked up, once more, at the window. He'd been constantly reassuring himself, over the last few days, that the path he'd chosen was the correct one, and trying to figure out what he could do to help his escape. The only thing he'd have over Malfoy would be the element of surprise. Once his magic returned, Malfoy wouldn't know, and as long as Harry made it clear he had no intention of leaving the cabin there would be no reason for the Death Eater to put any more barriers in his way.

"Well why haven't you attacked me then?" Malfoy pushed. "I brought you here. I'm the reason you're going to...die. Why aren't you fighting tooth and nail to - to - to... to get revenge?" He sounded desperate by the end, his voice breaking slightly. Harry was taken aback at the sudden reveal of emotion. If there was one thing the blonde man was good at, apparently, it was concealing his true feelings.

"Well... you have magic and I dont?" Harry reasoned, even though it had hardly stopped him the first time he'd attacked the larger man. Malfoy didn't buy it.

"That didn't stop you before." He replied quietly.

Harry stood up, noticing Malfoy twitch at the sudden motion. Harry wondered if his wand, too, was slipped down the top of his trousers.

"All I had to do was get my wand before." Harry replied, not looking at his enemy. "Now it makes no fucking difference whether I have it or not, thanks to you."

"What's it feel like?" Malfoy's tone suddenly changed from quietly desperate to almost innocently curious. Harry was almost getting whiplash with these conversational direction changes. It was hard to keep up.

"What's what feel like?"

"Having no magic. Being a squib. A muggle." Harry was surprised that the final word didnt hold more disgust as Malfoy spat it.

"I dont know." Harry responded, shrugging. "Like normal except..." Except he couldn't do things. Harry might have been raised in a muggle household, but much of his adolescence and all of the last four years had been spent in the wizarding world, where household tasks could be achieved with the swish of a wand. Cooking, cleaning, dressing, bathing... Even the least lazy wizard would utilise at least a few casual household spells every day, and Harry would never conservatively call himself not lazy.

"Except what?" Those grey eyes were gazing at him like he had an answer, like he was holding back something worth listening to. Like they were just two people in an everyday conversation instead of one person on the cusp of death and the other their indirect executioner. Harry turned abruptly, walking back to the kitchen and opening a cupboard with purpose. Inside was a bottle he'd ignored previously, thinking it too much of risk as much as he desired it. Right now, however, the risk could go fuck its self.

"Fancy a drink?" He called back over his shoulder.

"What?" Harry turned around, a bottle of Jack Daniels held up, glowing amber in the light.

"I'm having a drink. Do you want one?" Malfoy, taken by surprise, looked dumb with his mouth slightly agape. "Well?"

"You want to drink?" Malfoy asked, incredulously. "Knowing Bellatrix LeStrange could burst through that door at any moment, you want to get drunk?"

Harry just shrugged in response, catching two glass tumblers in his fingers and walking back to the sofa.

"To be perfectly honest, Malfoy, I think the only way I'm going to get through the next few days or weeks, or however long it takes for the Order to find me and arrest you is if I'm shit faced." Cracking the lid, he sloshed a healthy amount into a glass and proffered it to the Death Eater. Malfoy hesitated, frowning at Harry with searching eyes, trying to figure out his deeper intentions.

Harry didn't have any at that moment. He just didn't want to get drunk alone. Perhaps Malfoy saw this or perhaps he just decided it didn't matter. Either way, he took the glass.


	7. Truth And Whiskey

**A/N: ahhh a longer wait, I am sorry! But this chapter took me a while to pluck up the courage to write (jennifer u can just go ahead and skip this one atta girl) but write it i did and i'd like to thank all the smutty fanfictions i've been binge reading for the last week for inspiration and colourful ways of describing...stuff... ANYWAY, enjoy the drarry, and please leave me a review if you liked it :P oh and I apologise that this chapter hasn't followed the trend of being increasingly longer than the last, but i kinda liked where it cut off. i'll try and make the next longer to make up for it!**

Autumn is for dying

Chapter 7

The liquid burned as it went down, but Harry welcomed the heat. He closed his eyes, feeling it scald its way down to his stomach, licking his lips and feeling the small sting of the alcohol. He took a deep breath through his nose, smelling the whiskey, the fire, the closeness of the air in the room, the slight sweetness of the soap Malfoy had been using. In the moment, eyes shut and no sound but the quiet crackle of the fire in the corner, Harry could almost make himself believe he wasn't in the cabin, but back in Grimmauld Place, sharing a moment and a drink with Lupin.

"This is shit whiskey." And nope, no, he was back in cabin. He opened his eyes to see Malfoy frowning down into the glass, gently swirling the liquid around. Harry took another sip, watching him. The man was older and larger than the skinny boy Harry remembered, his face more angular and defined. His face was still brushed with stubble, the dark hollows Harry had noticed around his eyes a while ago still dark and bruise-like. Violent desires, violent ends. Even if the Dark Lord won, even if the muggles were forced into slavery and domination by the pure bloods of the world, Draco wouldn't survive it. Most wouldn't. Funny how they couldnt see that.

Malfoy was sat shirtless again. To Harry's mild discomfort, the blonde had stopped dressing fully a while back, preferring to air his scars apparently. He sat with one leg tucked under himself, an arm draped across the back of the sofa and the crystal tumbler loosely held in his other hand. He looked up at Harry, raising his eyebrows at Harry's gaze.

"What?" He asked, softly.

Harry didnt answer, looking away and taking another drink. The whiskey wasn't that shit, but he supposed Malfoy manor had been home to casks of aged liquid gold, to which it would pale in comparison. Ah, the difference between pureblood families. He'd never been to Malfoy manor. Never would. But Harry imagined it to be a grand place, beautiful and huge and yet grey and angular, like Draco himself. Cold and intimidating. But the Burrow, home to such a different breed of pureblood family. Harry loved the Burrow. Reds and oranges, warmth and family. All wonky edges and worn down floorboards.

"It's not that bad." He commented, draining the glass. He shifted from his place on the sofa arm to slide carefully to the floor, resting his back on the sofa. Malfoy's legs were a few inches away from him, but Harry didn't care. He poured himself another glass full.

He was already starting to feel lightheaded and loose with the drink. The cabin's food supply wasn't endless, and they'd both been subconciously rationing themselves - Harry knew he'd lost weight by the way his hipbones jutted out underneath his shirt. He could see Malfoy's weight loss in his face, his defined cheekbones and razor sharp jawline.

Sipping and staring into the fire, he let go of thoughts and let feelings take over. A slight tingling in his fingers as the alcohol took hold, how his eyelids felt heavy when he blinked, how his head swam slightly if he rolled it around. The way his mouth wanted to smile and his eyes crinkle even when no joke had been told. The fire danced ahead, the heat harsh on his face. Once upon a time, when Harry had still worn his distinctive glasses, his eyes were safe and cool from the heat of a fire, but that was long ago. Now, as he sat and the fire roared, he had to blink more rapidly to keep his eyes from getting itchy and dry.

He reacted slowly to the feeling of a glass gently tapping on his shoulder. Malfoy looked down at him with heavier lidded eyes, tumbler drained.

"Thought you said it was shit whiskey." Harry teased as he carefully raised the bottle to shoulder height to refil the glass.

"Shit whiskey's better than no whiskey." Malfoy replied diplomatically, bringing his other leg up to sit cross-legged. His knee was almost touching Harry's face. Harry felt the strange urge to lean his cheek against it, feel the soft material of his joggers against his skin. But he didn't.

"Truth."

A second glass later, and Harry and Malfoy both seemed like they were on the verge of trying to converse, but neither wanted to be the first to try. Eventually, as the fire began to die, Harry found something to comment on.

"Fire's getting low." Genius. He didn't know why he wanted to speak to the Death Eater. It had already been proven he couldn't change his mind on the situation. Harry was going to die, it was Malfoy's fault and he wouldn't be made to feel any guilt on the matter. Fine. Then Harry wouldn't feel any guilt when his magic returned, the Order came to save him and Malfoy either died in the resulting firefight or was dragged to Azkaban to spend the rest of his days.

"Incendio." Draco whispered, sending a small orange burst to the base of the fire. That wouldn't help for long, Harry knew, not when the fuel was almost spent. But he couldn't be bothered to get up and replace it, and he knew the Death Eater beside him couldn't either.

Sighing, he drank, and heard his companion take a mirroring sip.

"It gets better the more you drink." A small mumble informed him. Harry nodded slowly and deeply, his head swimming slightly.

After another glass in silence, Harry was laid on his back on the rug, staring at the beams on the ceiling and the dust motes in the air as they danced through the beams of firelight. Malfoy had slid down the sofa to replace him on the floor, leaning against the chair and cradling his glass.

"Malfoy though..." Harry began, addressing the roof. "Like... can I ask you a question? For real?"

A mumble answered him, and his lifted his head. Malfoy was slumped against the sofa, his face half squashed against the leather, looking out to the darkened window.

"What?" Harry asked.

Draco lifted his head, looking like it was heavy, and frowned at Harry with bleary eyes. "Potter." He said, then swallowed and pushed himself upright. "What do you want?"

Harry struggled to push himself up, propping his upper body on his elbows and tilting his head to one side rest on his shoulder.

"Why are you doing this, you stupid prick?" He was slurring slightly, but didn't throw the insult with any real venom. Malfoy reached for his glass, rolling his eyes, and took a swig.

"Fuck off." He sighed, gulping down the whiskey and licking his lips slowly, staring back at the fire like Harry had just vanished.

Harry had decided he wanted an answer this time. Sitting up, taking a quick moment to allow his vertigo to calm down, he scooted closer to the blonde, who stayed still, observing Harry with some drunken caution.

"No. No. No... no..." Harry paused to remember what he was going to say. "No, just answer Jesus Christ it's not a hard question..."

"Whats the point?" Malfoy asked, quietly. His eyes glittered in the firelight. His face had acquired a slight flush from the whiskey. He sounded tired. "What's the point even, even having this, this stupid discussion, though?" He took a long sip, closing his eyes. "No point."

Harry wasn't having it. There was a point, even if this was the end. Even if he was to go out in a blaze of guts and glory, even if it was that night that the Death Eaters showed up at the door to take him away to his fate, even if Malfoy himself was ordered to make the final cut. Harry still remembered the fear that had been in the boy's eyes that night four years ago on the Astronomy tower. That kind of fear wasn't born from loyalty. And that kind of fear didn't inspire loyalty. Only more fear. Even if Malfoy was violently adamant that he would never change sides, never allow Harry to leave, even if all that remained true, if Harry could do so much as just give him hope, give him a fragment of a reason to believe he wasn't trapped... that would be the point. Harry wished he could express this, but the alcohol which was allowing him to come to these conclusions was also inhibiting his ability to eloquently explain himself. It was frustrating. Harry, fighting to find a way to just get Malfoy's attention for long enough to explain, reached out a hand unthinkingly to touch the other man's leg.

His reaction was as if he'd been bitten by a rattlesnake. Draco flinched back hard, dropping his glass and falling back, unbalanced.

"No!" He said, as if Harry's touch was truly poison and to feel it would be to be condemmed. Harry drew his hand back, trying to see through the cloud in his own mind and find a way.

"Draco..." He started.

"No!" Malfoy repeated, pushing himself back and turning, trying to stand up. The alcohol betrayed him, however, and he fell. "Just don't!" He shouted, breathing ragged.

"I didn't even say anything you- you-" Harry replied, eyes wide and hand thrown up in a desperate gesture.

"You don't need to!" To Harry's gut wrenching shock, Malfoy's eyes shined bright with tears. His face was wild and eyebrows raised in the middle, like a scared child. "I don't want to hear you speak!"

"Yes you do!" Harry insisted, unsteadily getting his knees. "Because, because-"

"No, just, just leave me al-"

"Shut up, Malfoy!" Harry almost screamed. Draco's mouth snapped shut in shock at the outburst. Harry's chest was heaving, his head starting to ache and the alcohol burning a fiery hole in his gut. "You will listen to me because fuck you!" His voice was higher than he'd like, and tinged with an edge of hysteria. "I am going to die, Malfoy. I will die." Draco's eyes were wide and as Harry continued, he almost thought he saw his lip quiver before his mouth pulled tight. "I will die." He repeated, voice calming. "And it's not because of you. Its not because, because of..." Harry gestured widely, shaking his hands at the general area around them. He was rambling, he knew it, but he had a point he was going to get to come hell or high water. "It's not because of you bringing me here, I'll die anyway, I was always meant... to die. But you don't have to. You don't need to die, Draco but you need to stop being so fucking stupid-"

"You don't-" Malfoy tried to start, his voice hoarse, but Harry cut him off.

"No, you listen." He pressed, leaning forward, his fingertips touching the floor. "Voldemort-" Draco shuddered heavily at the name. "-doesn't care about you, Malfoy. If he did he wouldn't have put you in a team with Fenrir _fucking_ Greyback, he wouldn't have locked you away, he - he wouldn't have..." Harry still didn't know what Voldemort had done to Narcissa Malfoy in penance for Draco's sins. But as he paused, he could see Draco filling in the blanks in his own head, his eyes squeezing shut and a tear slipping down his cheek, catching the golden light as it fell. The sight hit Harry like a punch to the gut, and he wanted to reach out to wipe it away. But he didn't.

"Why do you talk about... this..." Draco slurred, reaching up with a shaking hand to roughly wipe his own face. "Why like you... like you know what's... what you're talking and saying and..." Whatever meaning he wanted to put across was lost though the sea of inebriation. He choked and, head bowed, his shoulders began to shake.

"Draco..." Harry reached out slowly. As he gently placed a hand on the crying man's shoulder, Malfoy flinched but didn't pull away. "It's okay..."

"No." Malfoy's voice was thick with tears and muffled through his hands. "No it's not okay." He choked. Harry slowly moved forward, running his hand along Malfoy's shoulders until he was sat beside him, arm around him. Even drunk, his mind boggled at the absudity of the situation. Comforting his killer. "It's not okay." Harry ran his thumb in circles on his hot skin.

"You're only human." He breathed, blinking and looking up at the ceiling for inspiration. "It's okay. It's okay to be... to be scared, Draco." Malfoy finally let out a sob, a heart wrenching sob from the gut. Harry, feeling guilt for no good reason he'd ever fathom, pulled the man tight to his chest. It was strange, a grown man, an enemy, breaking down. Just as he'd accused Harry of trying to make him do only days earlier.

Harry thought of the facade, the front that Malfoy had tried so hard to keep up the last few weeks. How all things crumble with time and patience. He held the Death Eater tightly, feeling him shake and tremble beneath his arms. How Ron would scoff, how Hermione would understand.

"War is shit." Harry breathed, the smell of Malfoy's hair filling his nose. "War is shit and it doesn't matter whose side you're on, war is shit. War is shit." He repeated the phrase over and over. An odd phrase to soothe, but it worked. Slowly, Malfoy's shaking stopped and he stilled. Harry moved a hand from Draco's shoulder to his head, to rest on his silky blonde hair. Malfoy stilled further at the touch, as if realising his position. He sat up and looked at Harry, his face inches from the other man.

"I can't help you." He whispered. His eyes were red and his face hollow and pale. He looked like death, and Harry couldn't help but sympathise.

"I know." He whispered back. The red only made his eyes look more like crystal, Harry decided. Glittering tears still hung onto the ends of his lashes, and a drunken whim led Harry to blow on him, to try and dislodge them.

Malfoy blinked at the air, moving his face back slightly.

"Why are you being nice?" He asked. "Why? I dont understand."

"Why would I waste my last few days being a dick?" Harry shrugged. He kept a hand on one of Malfoy's shoulders, using his other to reach over and grab Malfoy's glass, taking a swig of the amber liquid. "Here, at the end of all things. What would be the point?"

At this, Draco blinked. Then surged forward and pressed his lips to Harry's.

Harry's mind went blank. His hand clenched around the glass, his shoulders tensed up and he didn't breath. Malfoy, his face wet with tears and whiskey on his breath, pulled back a few millimetres, no longer touching Harry but eyes still shut, breathing still heavy. Harry kept motionless, lost in confusion. He was too drunk for this, too full of emotion, of mixed feelings. The intense sadness, the numbness, the heavy heart and light head. It all piled up. He wanted to cry as well, wanted to break down. He couldn't. Couldn't afford to lose himself to hopelessness. But he needed a release, needed an escape, even if only temporarily. And so, when Malfoy's eyes finally opened, glittering stars in a night sky, and he started to pull back, Harry moved forward to close the gap. He kissed him, fast and desperately, and Draco answered. And in that moment, they were one, two lost boys in a war too big for them with nothing to cling onto but each other.

Their kissing was hard and forceful, both of them trying to gain the upper hand over the other. Harry let the glass in his hand fall to one side, rolling harmlessly away under the sofa. He grabbed Malfoy's face, fisted a hand in his pale hair. Malfoy was doing the same, and with a motion that sent a thrill up Harry's spine, ran his hands down Harry's side and slipped them up his shirt, strong hands drunkenly grabbing skin. Harry broke the kiss with a gasp, head tilting back. Advantage was taken of this, sloppy and shaky kisses planted on his neck. To his embarrassment, he released a small noise when he felt Draco's teeth on his throat.

This was a bad idea, he knew it. But as much as his brain tried to convince him of this, his body was stubbornly ignoring all advice.

Malfoy had pulled Harry's shirt up at the back and pulled back far enough to tug it over his head, letting Harry tug it from his own arms. When he was free of it, the only sound in the room small gasps and the crackle of the last dying embers on the fire, Malfoy knelt up and half threw, half lifted Harry to the floor on his back.

Harry had a half second pause as the blonde man above him knelt over him, looking down, eyes dark and chest heaving, then with no more hesitation, joined him on the floor.

Where Draco's hands slip and groped, they left trails of fire and sparks on Harry's skin. It was like he'd never been touched before, and he was slightly embarassed at just how immediate and adolescent like his body's reaction was to the attention.

Harry, mind overwhelmed into silence, let the other man take control - not that he'd have had much choice either way; Draco was strong and seemed to know exactly what he wanted. Glancing briefly into Harry's eyes, pupils dilated and the whites of his eyes still red, Malfoy raised himself up slightly, planting his hands on either side of Harry's torso and making his way down his body. Harry's breath caught in his throat and his back arched as he felt lips, hands and stubble on him.

"Fuck..." Harry choked as Malfoy, kneeling up to sit back, grabbed his waistband and pulled him, hard, towards him. Harry fell back from his elbows as he slid forward, legs sprawled either side of Malfoy. Without taking his eyes, heavy and dark, from Harry's flushed face, Malfoy unbuttoned the other man's jeans and reached down the front of his pants to grab him.

Harry nearly choked at the contact. With slight sloppy imprecision that betrayed his drunkeness, Malfoy leant over Harry, moving his hand up and down roughly. Harry, back arched and hand grasping at the carpet beside his body, could only release tiny, gasping noises as feeling shot up his body.

With barely a pause in his minstrations, Malfoy reached down himself to quickly unzip and pull out his own erection. Harry, head spinning with alcohol and overwheming feeling, blinked heavily and looked down quick enough to see the man above him take both of them in one hand, using the other to prop himself up over Harry. Then, sense left him again as the Death Eater, breathing heavily, eyes lidded so heavily they were almost closed, began jerking them smoothly and quickly.

Breathing in and forgetting to exhale, Harry saw black spots and barely noticed as Malfoy lost his heavy one armed balance and slipped down to his elbow, forehead touching Harry's chest.

Harry's hips bucked up and he released the carpet with one hand, eyes screwed shut, instead grabbing the pale hair under his chin and squeezing tightly. With that final, painful stimulus, the muscles on Malfoy's back tensed and he grunted and Harry felt a hot wet over his stomach just before he, himself threw his head back and came with a breathy sigh.

To his credit, Draco didn't collapse on top of Harry as he released them with a shaking, sticky hand, simply remained, panting and shuddering, propped up on one elbow for a moment.

Harry, after that brilliant moment of white hot nothing, remembered he was still clutching Draco's hair in a vice like-grip, and released him quickly. Malfoy winced as a few hairs pulled out, stuck to Harry's sweaty palm, then with a groan, rolled to one side and lay on his back, beside Harry.

Pins and needles seemed to dance all over Harry's body as he lay, heart beating a thousand times a minutes, staring at the swimming ceiling above him. He could still feel the heat from Malfoy next to him, hotter than the expired coals in the fire on his other side.

As his breathing slowed and his heart rate calmed down to a more reasonable pace, Harry began to feel the unfortunate side effects of drunken, sloppy fooling around. His head, previously so high and dancing, began to throb from the base of his neck to the middle of his forehead. He closed his eyes, hard, as if he could push away the effects. His efforts went unavailed as a curl of nausea started to make its way up his gullet. Alcohol and aerobic activity, it seemed, never mixed.

"Fuck-" Harry said, sitting up too quickly and seeint black. "Am gonna- ugh-" Feeling the disgusting sensation of their cum cooling on his stomach as he moved, Harry swerved and stumbled up and to the bathroom, where he barely made it in time to vomit in and around the porcelain loo.

There wasn't enough food in his system to come up, but a dark mix of whiskey and bile seemed more than happy to be relieved of him as he knelt in the cold, retching and spitting. Harry's brain seemed to surrender to the alcohol even more as it left him, sense, reason and logic leaving his thoughts in a sad, confused mess. Once he'd thoroughly emptied his stomach of its contents, Harry briefly considered getting up and moving, but not only was he not sure where he was he also wasn't sure how his legs worked, and so he slumped to one side, laying his head ungently down on the cold stone of the bathroom floor, and fell blackout asleep between the toilet and the wall.

 **EXTRA A/N: Harry drunk rambles the same way I drunk ramble, Malfoy drunk cries the same way i drunk cry and Harry blacked out after drunkenly throwing up the same way I blacked out after throwing up in Birmingham last weekend :| props to ma boy James for getting me back to Coventry - u da man.**


	8. Hungover Decision Making

**A/N: ah another chapter so quickly, whaat. I hope you liked the drunken shagging, now get ready to deal with intense descriptions of people being disgustingly hungover. a nice big old plot twist in this one, hope you enjoy it! leave me a review if you do, i'm enjoying writing it and as far as I can tell there's at least a few people reading it but... y'all so silent :')**

Autumn is for dying

Chapter 8

Harry had been hungover enough to know before he opened his eyes that it was going to be a bad one. For a while he tried to lie very still, ignore reality, and slip back to sleep. But it wasn't going to happen and to his overwhelming dismay, he was forced to open his eyes and re-enter life.

"Fucking kill me..." He breathed, barely a sound leaving his throat. He was wedged extremely uncomfortably in the exact place he'd fell the night before, on his side with his cheek pressed to the cold, hard stone tile, one arm trapped beneath him and legs sprawled out across the floor. He knew that remaining completely still was the only way he'd get respite from the gross, painful day to come, but his arm had fallen completely to sleep and his bladder was requesting impolitely that he pay attention to it.

And so, against every wish and will screaming in his head, Harry pushed his way into a seating position, back agains the wall and head held stiffly upright. Immediately, nausea began to rise again, and he lunged forward to retch into the vomit-stained toilet. He whined in self pity as nothing came up, his own body denying him the respite that throwing up would give. Coming to his knees with all the pathetic drama of an arthiritc pensioner, Harry looked down at himself and almost sobbed with the disgusting mess his torso was in. Too many bodily fluids still graced his body and his cock still hung from his trousers in a disgusting reminder of the previous nights drunken antics. Nope. No. Now was not the time to deal with that, now was the time to try and throw up again and then crawl on hands and knees around the corner to the shower to remove all evidence besides that which burned into his brain.

After making it into the shower room, Harry took a second to thank any God that might be listening that the shower could be activated by a thin white cord dangling to hip height, so he could simply crawl to a seated position beneath the shower head and pull it on.

The water graced the back of his bowed head like an icy rainfall, taking his breath away and leaving him whisper-screaming curse words towards the shower floor. It quickly warmed up though, and before long he could uncurl his toes and unclench his butt cheeks, muscles in his back relaxing enough for him to lift his head and let the water fall on his face.

It took a while, sat there in silence, for Harry's brain to catch up with the world and for him to remember that whilst his cock might be exposed, he was still wearing trousers and pants, and if he were to get clean he might want to remove them.

An awkward bit of wriggling and sliding later and Harry was sat, eyes closed and head back, letting the water fall as he dozed.

He didn't sleep for long, the throbbing hangover only allowing him a few moments, but it was enough for him to achieve a little more clarity and balance, and he pushed himself up on wobbly legs to finish the shower upright.

Harry left the shower dripping and flushed with the heat of the water, walking carefully till he could reach a towel. Wrapping it around his waist, he wandered to the sink to lean over and take long, wheezing gulps of water directly from the tap.

"I am a mess and I hate myself." He matter-of-factly told his steamed up reflection. Looking into his own red, purple surrounded eyes, Harry wondered what was waiting for him on the other side of the bathroom door. The night before had been... complicated. Even without the ridiculous hand-job he'd recieved, the revelations, the sadness, the truth that had been revealed. The image came, unbidden, into Harry's mind of Draco's tear stained face whispering that he couldn't help Harry. The sorrow with which he'd admitted that. Shit.

Why the fuck had he got the whiskey out, he could kick himself. Everything was more complicated now.

Harry lifted a hand to wipe the cloudy condensation away from the circular mirror, seeing his eyes, his tired face, his mouth still reddened around the edges where Malfoy had bitten and sucked his lips...

Jesus Christ, if Ron ever found out what had happened... Harry banished the thought with a shake of his head. No, one problem at a time.

With a sigh, Harry rolled his shoulders back to hear a faint 'pop' and walked slowly back around the corner. The smell coming from the toilet wrinkled his nose and he quickly shut the lid to flush last night's stomach contents down. Oh how he wished now, more than ever, that he had the ability to cast a quick cleaning charm.

It took some considerable guts to open the door to the kitchen, but open it he did and took a step in all his still wet - towel wearing glory - through.

White light illuminated the room as ever, revealing nothing about what time it was in the morning or (more likely) early afternoon. The fire was still out and a cold chill left Harry's sensitive, wet skin breaking out in goosepimples. The floor, stony and cold beneath his feet, slapped as he walked, the sound quiet but clear. Harry took a deep breath, begging his stomach to chill out, and looked around. The room was empty, that was for certain. Harry leaned slightly to push one of the kitchen cabinet doors shut with a faint 'click', being careful to not tilt his head down to follow his own movement and incite a nauseous riot in his brain.

The sofa's were still wonky from where they'd been disrupted and shoved around the night before, two glasses still littering the floor (one, Malfoy's if Harry remembered correctly) was only visible as a faint crystalline shine just beneath the leather chair.

The carpet, still white and fluffy, was rucked up where two heavy bodies had rolled and writhed upon it, and Harry took a deep breath as memories flooded his mind. Closer to the fireplace was his discarded shirt, a pathetic pile of grey cotton sitting like a pool of shame.

Harry still forbade thoughts concerning the potential consequences of his and Malfoy's actions from entering his head. Now was not the time for such worries. Now was the time for filling a glass of water and making his way upstairs to his room to sleep the rest of the day off.

Harry heard nothing as he walked up the wooden staircase, a slight creak from one of his heavier footsteps the only sound in the house. A small twinge of worry joined the nausea swirling in his stomach. Was Malfoy okay?

Harry gave no shits if the blonde man was suffering the same hangover as he, alcohol abuse is as alcohol abuse does, after all, but he was still faintly concerned that alcohol abuse hadn't killed Draco...

He reached the top of the stairs, one hand clutched around the damp towel at his waist and the other bringing the cold glass up for a quick sip. Harry considered just turning to the right and pretending like nothing was (or could be) wrong, but his conscience got the better of him and he knocked on the wood ahead of him with the glass.

"Malfoy?" His voice was croaky, throat burned slightly with the acidity of all the previous night's vomit. "You alive?" Taking another tiny drink to cool off his throat, Harry listened for an answer.

Nothing. Ugh, God, he was going to have to go inside wasn't he.

Again, he seriously considered just assuming Malfoy was alive and okay and retiring to his quarters, but his morality ate away at his chest like an Alien.

"Jesus Christ..." Harry swore at his own annoying moral code and, being careful to not spill a drop, opened the door with his water-glass hand.

"Malfoy...?" The humid combination of sweaty man smell, vomit and... Harry didn't like to think the last component but sex - almost had Harry taking a step backwards as it hit him. He wrinkled his nose, turning his head to take a breath of fresher air in the corridor. The room was dark, blackout curtains pulled almost shut. The thin beam of light emitting from the centre of the window revealed nothing in the gloom but a white line on one of the walls, and Harry rolled his eyes as he realised he was going to have to enter the room to get his answer.

He stepped inside, feeling discarded clothes beneath his feet. Praying that there would be no painfully spiky surprises ahead of him, Harry made it to the window and gripped the heavy cotton, yanking it to one side with a swift tug.

Light spilled into the room, an assault on the senses. Harry, squinting, turned to one side as he heard a soft groan from the bed.

"Malfoy?" A white, slender, very naked body rolled onto its side on the bed, arms thrown up to shade the head from the light. Harry's mouth suddenly felt dry for reasons other than his sore throat as he took in the sight. Just enough of Malfoy's body was tucked under the red sheets to preserve his modesty, but his dignity was out and on show in full with the entire of one side out to see, from his toes all the the way up to the tips of his ears.

"You're alive then." Harry croaked, not blinking. He couldn't see Malfoy's face buried in the pillow with an arm thrown over it, but he heard another pained sounding groan and took it as a 'I'm hungover but alive' sound. He stood for another second, eyes trembling as he tried to not glance at the arse he was being presented with.

"Maflfamm..." Malfoy suddenly turned over onto his back, revealing way more than Harry felt comfortable viewing, and he shot forwards and out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

When Harry woke next the sun was starting to set again. About seven o'clock, he decided. The hangover had faded but not left him entirely and was weak enough now to allow Harry to sit up without throwing up as long as he acceded to its 'slowly slowly slowly' demands.

He had crawled beneath his white sheets in the nude, dropping the damp towel to the floor before doing so, but the room was now cold enough for him to realise that this might not have been the greatest idea when nobody was up and awake to light the fire and heat the house. Shivers ran up and down him, the chill raising the hairs on his arms and legs and threatening to freeze the moisture in his nose as he inhaled.

Stepping quickly from the warmth of the bed, Harry pulled on some clean clothes from the pile in the corner he'd scavenged from Malfoy's wardrobe. Well. Time to face the music.

He'd pulled on pants, jeans, a shirt, jacket, socks and boots - the same as every day. He took the desire to do so as a good sign - he was now back to being sober and clear-headed enough to remember that both his magic and the Death Eaters could show up any second and he should be prepared for this.

For the second time day Harry found himself thanking any deity that might be following his journey that Voldemort hadn't shown up the night before. It really had been a stupid idea to get shit-faced. He couldn't remember what had come over him to make him think it had been a good plan.

Shaking his head in disgust at himself, Harry left his room to make his way back downstairs to food, only to come face to face with another of his bad ideas.

"Oh!" Malfoy didn't jump as much as he at their sudden meeting, but he did look like the shit Harry had felt that morning.

His eyes were rimmed with purple, bruise like shadows. Hollow cheeks fell beneath prominent cheekbones, and the stubble he'd previously been keeping under shallow control was threatening to develop into a beard.

His hair hadn't been the elegant, slicked back perfection of their school days at all this little forced vacation, but now it hung, lank and straggly, over his forehead. He was clean at least, the product of several Clean Me charms if Harry was to guess, and he'd finally covered his pale torso with a large black t-shirt. One of his arms was clutched around himself, as if he was trying to hold something in his stomach. The other was holding tightly to a glass of water, like it was the only important thing in the universe to him at that point.

They stood staring in hungover silence for a second, Harry's mind a blank to an appropriate greeting after last night. Then, deciding that nothing would even come close to appropriate, he silently broke eye contact and wove around the other man, continuing his path to the kitchen.

He stood in the cold kitchen, rummaging quietly through a cupboard to find something that wouldn't turn his stomach further, when he heard slow footsteps coming down the stairs. Don't look. Harry urged himself. Do not turn around.

He heard the leather crackle of someone sitting on the sofa.

Fuck, he was hungover.

He ended up choosing a protein bar to miserably chew on, and went to join his unwanted housemate on the sofa.

"So..." He trailed off, resolutely not looking at the blonde man sitting over from him. The fire still hadn't been lit, Malfoy clearly having other things on his mind than finding wood and casting an _incendio_ spell. He paused, sneaking a glimpse at his companion. Draco was looking down at the glass of water in his hand like it held the answers to the universe. Like Harry didn't exist. Well, any other time and that would have been fine by Harry, but he kind of needed some answers himself about what had happened.

"How do you feel?" He tried tentatively. Malfoy kept up the charade of not being able to hear him, taking a small sip of the clear liquid before him. Harry began to feel mild annoyance. This was not the kind of thing that would go away by not talking about it, plus the sooner to capitalise on Malfoy's drunken regretfulness regarding his imprisonment, the better.

"We need to talk about-"

"We don't need to talk about anything." Malfoy grunted, interrupting him. Harry sank back in his chair.

"Yes we do."

"No. We don't. We were both drunk and and... and..."

"And nothing, it doesn't matter what we did-" And to Harry's surprise, he found he really meant that. Their actions, their drunken groping, coming together like they had in sadness and desperation... There was no regret swimming around his head regarding that. If anything, it had filled a hole that he hadn't realised was empty within him. Companionship. He hadn't had any of that since he and Ginny had broken up a few years ago, separated by circumstance and lack of desire. The fact that it had been Malfoy to fill that hole was certainly a surprise, but not an altogether unwelcome one.

"It doesn't matter what we did, it matters what you said." He finished. At this, Malfoy looked up at him, frowning like he'd said something ridiculous.

"I didn't say anything."

"Oh yes you did." Harry wasn't about to let him get off the hook, not now. Not with something this important. When life and death hang in the balance, reservation is not the word of the day. "You can't pretend like it didn't happen." He said, more quietly.

Malfoy's eyes flickered away, an expression of concern settling over his face, eyebrows drawn in.

"Malfoy... Draco." It was the first time he'd said the Death Eaters first name, and it had the effect he wanted. Those grey eyes flashed back to him, mouth parting slightly. Harry leaned forward, a mask of non-condescending concern on his face. "I meant what I said last night, no matter how much of a drunken ramble it sounded. If I die, I die. But chances are, if I die, so do you. You might not care about me, but I know you care about yourself. The Order can help you." The war was far from over, in fact, it had only increased in size and violence over time. But Harry wasn't the only person on his side to try and find goodness wherever it was hidden, and more than one Death Eater defector had been welcomed over to the side of the light. Admittedly, none had been quite so high profile as Malfoy, but Harry was convinced that with his backing, he could get the blonde safety.

Not that he should want that? It was a confusing little knot he tried to keep to the back of his mind. He was still at least mostly sure that his magic would return before they were discovered and he'd be rescued, and then it wouldn't matter if Draco helped him or not. But still, it seemed worth a try.

Malfoy was looking at him now, neck tense and head held straight up. If he was thinking, it was about something that disturbed him. Harry hoped he was deliberating the right thing. But then he shook his head, eyes flashing dark.

"I meant what I said last night, Potter." He muttered, running a hand through his messy hair. "I can't help you." Harry's heart sunk but yet he persisted.

"Why not?" He asked, shifting forward on his chair to sit on the edge of his seat. "Look, if we just leave, just set out, we can find someone in town and... contact the Order!" Malfoy was shaking his head again, looking at Harry like he was speaking the impossible.

"No, it wouldn't work." He said, retreating into himself. "No, they'd find you first."

Harry refused to believe that he truly believed this. After all, if it were that easy to alert the Death Eaters to his presence, why hadn't he left Harry stunned and travelled into whatever town was closest weeks ago?

He asked as such, and Malfoy answered with a shrug and pained expression.

"I couldn't risk _your_ side having someone in town and hearing and... and..."

"So you were worried that the Order would find you first? And now you're convinced the Death Eaters would find us first? Make up you mind Malfoy, you're making fucking excuses!" At his angry outburst, Malfoy stood from his chair, thunder in his eyes.

"Don't fucking talk to me like that Potter." The change was abrupt, from confused and conflicted to angry and aggressive. But Harry had had just enough of his mood swings, and was unperturbed. He rose to his feet to face the Death Eater.

"I'll fucking talk to you however I like when you're being _stupid_ and obstinate, you prick!" He snarled. This wasn't going exactly how he'd have wanted, but he'd have been an idiot to expect it to.

"You're the fucking stupid one if you cant see the idiocy in this situation Potter!" Malfoy shouted, throwing the still-full glass of water onto the sofa where it splashed on the leather. "We're fucked! This isn't one of your lovely little adventures, the mudblood isn't going to come rescue you in time! And I _can't help you!_ " He punctuated each word of his last sentence with a sharp gesture towards Harry. His eyes were bright again and chest heaving. Harry was sure he looked much the same, blood rising to his face.

"You're a coward." Harry breathed, venom dripping from his voice. Malfoy narrowed his eyes at this and stepped forward, hands clenched by his sides. Harry didn't back down. "You've made mistakes, but you're too scared to try and fix them. If you're going to die either way, why not try and do something right before the end?"

"Oh, and be the hero? Steal your play?" Malfoy snorted. "Sorry, Potter, I'm not you."

"I'm not asking you to be me." Harry grated, taking a step forward to get in the slightly-taller man's face. Malfoy bared his teeth like he wanted to snap at him. "I'm asking you to just. Fucking. Do. Something." His voice had dropped to a low, angry whisper. "Are you really that content to just roll over and let Fenrir Greyback make you his bitch for the rest of your miserable, short life?"

Malfoy blinked. Then, rage in his eyes, he shoved out at Harry. Taken by surprise at the attack, Harry stumbled backward and fell on his arse painfully.

"What the fuck you..." He didn't finish the insult, scrambling to his feet and taking a step back. No, no, it couldn't go like this. His brain was reeling, this was wrong, so wrong. He needed to persuade Draco to defect, not fight him like the angry teenager his actions were currently saying he was. Speaking of Draco, the furious man was approaching him quickly.

"Malfoy, fucking stop..." Harry stepped backwards just as quickly, putting the chair between him and and the approaching man. "You're being ridiculous!" Malfoy put a hand on the chair arm and shoved, hard. It toppled to one side and Harry gulped.

"Fucking hell..." He moved back further, trying to put something else between him and the approaching storm. " _Draco_!" Upon hearing his first name, Malfoy froze, blinking rapidly. Harry tried to take advantage of his hesitation. "Draco, I'm sorry, look, I didn't mean to..." Fuck, what could he honestly apologise for about his previous statements? He'd meant them all. Malfoy, seeming to read his mind, snorted.

"You're not sorry." He said, lightly. The overwhelming anger that had just been flushing his face had vanished, replaced by a mildly amused expression. Fucking emotional whiplash - the man needed mental help! Harry stuttered over his words, trying to wrap his brain quickly around the change of pace.

"Er..." Was all he came up with. Malfoy stood, watching him. Harry had almost made his way behind the safety of the table, one hand on the cold wood, centre of gravity lower than it would have been had he just been standing there. He felt awkward.

"No. I guess I'm not." He admitted, straightening up.

"And you're not wrong." Draco sighed. Harry raised his eyebrows, surprised. Malfoy turned and moved to pick the chair up, straightening it slowly. "About Fenrir Greyback."

Oh gosh. This was going to be an awkward discussion if he'd ever had one. Harry felt a little smidgen of anger grow in his stomach as the implication of what Malfoy had admitted settled in the air between them.

"You mean... he...?" Harry didn't want to finish, didn't want to ask what he didn't want to know. Malfoy looked up at him from beneath his lowered brow and shook his head, as if knowing what it was Harry was wrestling with.

"No, he hasn't _fucked_ me, Potter." He said the word as if it was a clinical thing, as if one could be detached from the act. "But it wouldn't be long before he thought himself so far above me that he could. Especially-" He gave a small laugh devoid of any humour. "Especially if they managed to find us without me having gone into town or done _anything_ to make it easier for them." Malfoy looked Harry in the eyes, honesty and a tiny bit of fear shining. "Punishment for being a _coward_." Harry might not be sorry for his words, but he was sorry. God, war was shit.

"Then lets not let them." Harry pressed, hope in his words again. "Let's get out of here, me and you!" He took a tentative step forward, watching Malfoy's eyes drop to follow the path of his feet. "If all that's waiting for you on your side is... is rape and eventual death, then what the fuck is there to lose?" There, the question that could determine everything. What else did Malfoy have to lose? What had happened to Narcissa Malfoy?

Malfoy took a shaky breath and looked up at him. His eyes were shining and his face pale.

"Even if we do get out. Even if we manage to evade the Death Eaters, get you back to the Order, hell, even if they embrace me with open arms..." His breath caught in his throat and he blinked back what Harry suspected were tears. "My mother."

"What happened to her?" Harry breathed, taking another slow step towards Draco.

"He has her." Malfoy said, the words flowing from him in a pained gasp. "He's keeping her. To make sure me and father stay in line. I haven't seen her in two years. I don't know..." His voice broke, but tears didn't fall. He looked anguished. "I don't know what he's done to her, but I know that if I try and betray him... he'll kill her."

Damn. In a horrible way, Harry thought, it would have been easier if Voldemort had just killed Draco's mother as punishment. At least then they'd be free to make a break for it. But Harry wasn't heartless and he felt the plight of losing parents more than anyone, so he didn't say it.

Instead, he took a final step forward, only a foot away from the other man now, and reached out to place a hand on Malfoy's shoulder.

"We'll save her." He said. Draco snorted, lip curling up at the ease with which Harry seemed to pledge this.

"Oh yeah, I bet. The great Harry Potter can just blast into The Dark Lord's headquarters and take whoever he wants. Just like that." He turned away, stomping over to the sofa. "Forgive me if I'd like a little more of a plan than just 'we'll save her'."

Harry was elated. He had him. All it was now was a matter of figuring out the details. He started forward, ready to join Draco on the sofa and scheme.

But the world, as it ever does, had other plans for Harry on that day. And before he'd taken a single step, there came a series of stomach-droppingly familiar CRACK's from outside. He raised his head, mouth dropping open in horror just as the glass window burst inwards, sending shattered glass across the room. He barely had time to shield his face, seeing Malfoy automatically doing the same, before the door blasted inwards to join the window.

And in walked Fenrir Greyback.


	9. Red Cold River

**A/N: ahh another chapter :) a lot of action in this one, I had fun writing it. I liked the ending of it but it wasnt long enough so I went back to add more to flesh it out for you all :D thank you for the review michaela-uzumaki, I'm sorry to have left it on such a cliffhanger but look, I didn't leave you waiting long :')**

Autumn is for dying

Chapter 9

He stepped through the shattered wood of the door like a cowboy confidently entering the bar of a rival he'd just shot. Harry's whole body froze in horror as he watched the werewolf scan the room, eyes falling on Malfoy - equally frozen on the sofa - and Harry. His mouth curled over in cruel triumph.

"Well, well, well." He half growled, half spat. He seemed to be salivating in excitement at his discovery. "Gotcha." Another Death Eater, black cloaked but not hooded, stepped through the door and Harry unfroze but still didn't move. He could see Draco on the sofa, staring at the intruders like they were aliens. Move Draco! He hissed in his head. Greyback noticed his hesitance, noticed him glancing at Malfoy and his smile widened.

"What's the matter, Potter?" He chuckled. "You look like you think Malfoy is going to save you." Draco's head whipped around to Harry, eyes wide and mouth open. He rose from the sofa, facing Harry.

Run. He mouthed. Harry took a step back, even as he saw more Death Eaters entering the room and raising their wands at him. But his legs didn't want to go. Didn't want to abandon the terrified looking blonde man who - Harry's mouth thinned and his stomach fell - who was being approached slowly by the werewolf.

Harry's mouth ran dry and his fists clenched involuntarily as Greyback placed a hand oddly delicately on Draco's shoulder. His roommate flinched at the contact and a visible shudder ran through him, but he didn't move and didn't break his eye contact with Harry. Go. His mouth barely moved to mouth the word, but his eyes spoke volumes where he couldn't.

Harry took another step back, back towards the kitchen. He swallowed, breathing coming heavy. There were too many Death Eaters in the room with them now, at least six wands pointing at him. And yet, he knew, if he sprinted and dodged, he could at least make it out of the back and as far into the snow as his legs would let him. But still. He watched as Fenrir's grip on Malfoy's shoulder tightened, the wretched wolf's eyes narrowing as he watched Harry, analysing his moves. He still had that shit-eating grin on his face and Harry had to stop himself from leaping forward and into sure oblivion as he moved the clawed hand from Draco's shoulder to gently rest around the back of his neck, fingers curling softly around the young man's jaw. Harry was seeing red. Malfoy's eyes fluttered shut, defeated. His body was almost moving with the depth of his heavy breathing under Greyback's grasp.

"Haha, fucking hell!" Greyback almost whooped, realisation finally cresting in his eyes. He wrapped his fingers around Draco's neck and pulled him tight, back, against his own huge body. Draco hissed in pain, stumbling. Harry watched as he finally seemed to remember he had a wand and moved his hand to reach for it. Too late. Greyback beat him to the punch, snatching the man's wand from his waistband and holding it out of his reach.

"What have you boys been up to..." He mused, tightening his hold on Draco's neck. Harry twitched as he saw a trail of blood spill from where the werewolf's claws dug in. Keeping his yellow eyes on Harry to watch for a reaction, Greyback ducked his head to take a deep breath close to Malfoy's neck. Draco tried to pull his face away, but Fenrir had him tight.

"You smell like sex, Draco." Harry heard him whisper to the other man. "Now isn't that interesting." Draco suddenly began to twist and wrench, trying to force his way out of that painful grip. But the werewolf only tightened his hand around his neck, cutting off his airflow and turning Malfoy an unpleasant red. "Well, I can't say this is what I was expecting to find!" Greyback announced to the room, leaning back to laugh with the rest of the Death Eaters stood in silence around him. "But it shouldn't be surprising, I suppose. You've always been a pathetic little traitor." He laughed, loosening his grip slightly and allowing Malfoy to take a wheezing breath.

"Get the fuck off of him." Harry finally said, his voice low and threatening. Fenrir seemed to find this the funniest joke he'd heard in a while, laughing loud.

"Or what?" He burst. Harry looked at Draco, who could breathe but whose face was still ashen. He didn't know what. He had his wand, tucked carefully into his own waistband, but he still didn't have magic. And they were outnumbered seven-to-one. And Greyback already had Malfoy.

If Harry hadn't already realised he was connected to Draco, he did now, his stomach writhing like it was filled with snakes as he watched him struggle under the werewolf's grip. No, he couldn't leave without the blonde. Wouldn't. Call it recklessness, call it bravery, call it whatever; Harry didn't leave people behind. Besides, he reasoned, how far could he even get in the cold?

Decision made, he stepped forward, watching the wands in the room follow him. Who would be the first to curse him, he wondered. Who would take the win?

He recognised a few faces amongst the group. Delphina Astor, a middle aged, angry looking redhead standing directly to the right of Greyback. Jeffer... Jeffer... Harry couldn't recall the dark haired young man's surname, but if he recalled correctly that hideous scar knotting the right hand side of his face was thanks to one of Hermione's traps. Jeffer Somebody stood to the back of the group, hand wavering slightly as his wand swayed around Harry. Hah, no depth perception with only one eye. It was small comfort to see Hermione's dirty work at work, but it was something.

"You're fucked." Greyback sneered. "And so are you." This was aimed at the man he still held tight against him. "Sleeping with the enemy, Draco... the Dark Lord will be disappointed." Malfoy struggled again, elbowing back. The blows landed on the man like the beating of a butterflies wings. "Once we've taken Potter to him, I think I'll punish you myself." His voice was low and heavy, big white teeth too close to Draco's face. Harry saw red.

Without thinking, he grabbed his wand from his belt.

"Stupefy!" He yelled. A powerful red flash of magic exploded from the end of the wand, missing Greyback but burning his face as it went. The surprise he saw on Draco's face mirrored the shock he felt as he turned to dive behind the kitchen counter, narrowly avoiding spells and curses aimed at him from everybody else in the room. He took cover, hearing the slams and smashes of the magic hitting and ricocheting behind him like machine gun fire. He stuck his hand up over the counter without looking, wordlessly releasing a barrage of bombardment curses. It was a skill easily honed by any wizard, a spell forcing energy through the air to do nothing but push and punch where it landed. He heard screams and gasps where they hit and took the brief pause in attacks to poke his head up over the counter. Two of the Death Eaters were down, one half-hanging out of the shattered window frame. The others had taken cover around the room, two of them behind the upturned sofa, one half-hidden behind a beam and one peeking out around the door frame. Greyback was still stood in the centre of the floor, holding Draco in front of him as a shield. Harry growled, he wouldn't be able to get a curse off with Malfoy in the way.

He fell reflexively back into battle mode. This was where he focus was. He'd done this very same situation before. Trapped behind a cover, pinned down, outnumbered. Harry almost smiled. Last stands were his kinda jam.

" _Incendio_!" He decided to even the playing field a little, make them worry about more than one enemy. The staircase erupted into flames, essentially evicting the two Death Eaters hiding behind the sofa from their places. One of them, robes on fire, ran out into the centre of the room, where Harry hit him with a powerful bombardment hex, sending him flying back into the wall where he landed with a sickening crunch. The other robed figure slipped behind one of the beams, blinding sending bright curses at Harry, forcing him to duck again behind the counter.

The flames he'd conjoured had quickly taken root and were licking up and across the roof like they were alive, creating thick black smoke broiling along the ceiling. Harry heard Greyback roar over the sound of the fire, and an extremely powerful curse hit the wood of the counter hard enough to penetrate it and cause a splintering bulge to emerge on his side. Shit. Another one of those and his cover would be destroyed. He had to move.

The heat of the fire was growing unbearable and Harry had to consider that the house might not last much longer. He had to move. Throwing his arm up to send some more blasts towards the room, Harry could no longer hear if they'd landed, the scream of the fire and the creak of the dying timber so loud.

"Potter!" He did, however, catch Greyback's howl. "I'll kill him!"

Harry, crouched low with his back to the counter, tried to rifle through his options at the speed of light. Surrendering the traditional way, by standing and walking across the room, was not even an option any more - the fire was collapsing beams and spreading black across the whole room now. The door to the bathroom was ahead of him - a small window which he could climb out ahead of that. He didn't want to leave Draco in the clutches of the animalistic maniac but he no longer had a choice. The smoke had filled the room to waist-height now, and the heat was stinging his eyes. Coughing, Harry crawled forward. He had no idea where the rest of the Death Eaters were, he hoped that at least a few had been taken down by the fire. He pushed the bathroom door open with a flat palm, keeping his wand held tight in his other hand. If he'd have been in his right mind he'd have cast a bubble-head charm to help him breathe in the thick, acrid wood smoke, but having only had his magic back a few moments it hadn't occurred to him.

The toilet was marginally less smokey than the room he left behind, but the window was still above visibility height. Harry exhaled in disappointment as he realised he'd have to hold his breath and fumble blindly for the latch.

He slowly went from his knees to balanced on the balls of his feet. He couldn't hear anything over the sound of the house blaze, but he had to hope that Greyback had taken Malfoy outside with him as a hostage. In a swift motion, Harry stood, his head and shoulders entering the layer of hot smoke, and flung his hands up to where he was hoping the window was.

He was lucky; his palms collided with glass. He fumbled around for the latch, lungs starting to ache with the strain of holding his breath. Flipping it open, he gave a large push.

The smoke instantly began funnelling out through the window into the cold, white outdoors. Harry took a huge, gulping breath, blinking soot from his eyes as he pulled and kicked, climbing up and out.

It took a moment but, hands scraping against the metal frame, Harry toppled head first out of the window and landed in the snow.

"Shit..." Harry swore, spitting a mouthful of the powdery ice out and wiping his eyes with his sleeve. He got up quickly, walking a few paces away from the building before he remembered he should really be in hiding. Now he was outside, he could hear faint voices, carried by the wind. The still-living Death Eaters were somewhere around the house.

Now it wasn't snowing, Harry could see that the landscape wasn't quite the blank canvas tundra he'd previously thought. Here, around the back of the building, was a road curving away, lined a mile or so away by trees.

More immediate problems pushed to the front of Harry's mind, however. He had sworn to himself, if not to Draco, that both of them would escape. He intended to keep that promise.

Raising his wand to hip height, Harry slowly walked towards the corner of the house, keeping as close to the building as he could considering there was a fire raging within. He briefly wondered how long it would be before the outer walls of the cabin would be ablaze. Reaching the corner, Harry peeked around.

There were at least two black-clad figures stood outside the cabin, shouting. Neither had Greyback's height or Draco's blond hair.

"Okay." Harry tried to pep-talk himself into action. "You can do this, and you can do this quickly." Inhaling, Harry swung around, wand first and cast two stupefy spells in quick succession before diving back around the side of the building.

Breathing heavily, he closed his eyes for a moment to pray and wish. No spells were returned after a few seconds and no shouting emerged. A quick peek later and joyous pride filled his stomach. Both Death Eaters lay prone on the floor. Christ, what miracle of luck was guiding his aim today?

He started forward again, but didn't get far, boots crunching heavily in the snow, before another person came barrelling around the corner. This one, Harry recognised.

" _Crucio_!" The spell, searingly hot, missed Harry by inches, and only then because he'd taken a wise dive to his right. Jeffer Someone snarled, his scarred face twisting as he stalked forward, wand outstretched. Harry, muscles aching, twisted quickly to return to his feet. The young man approached him with fire in his movements, and trailing ash. The blaze must have caught him. Harry kept a step back for every one of Jeffer's steps forwards, waiting for the next attack. Jeffer stepped over his fallen comrades without so much as a second glance, focus only for Harry.

" _Conlidam_!" Jeffer barked, bringing his wand up, high above his head and then down in a sharp motion. The wall beside Harry's head burst outwards, sending hot wood shards firing at his face. Harry turned his head quickly enough to avoid getting blinded by the onslaught, but caught a decent amount of it in the side of his face and neck. He stumbled to one side, blood pouring down the collar of his jacket. He struggled to catch his breath, blinking furiously to try and keep his concentration on his rapidy approaching enemy. " _Stupefy_!"

" _Protego_!" His old faithful came through for him, Jeffer's spell ricocheting off into the sky with a sharp crack. Quick as a whip, Harry brought his wand back to front, flicking and curving his hand.

" _Motum Impediant_!" It was the first spell that came to mind. White light split into three sharp, angular beams blasted towards Jeffer and encircled him. It spread, dividing and crossing over, until he was surrounded by a three-sided triangular cage. Harry stood, wand to attention, watching and worrying. But Jeffer was trapped. He snarled and lashed out but the magical cage prevented everything from moving, including any spells.

Harry breathed.

"Fuck you, Potter!" Jeffer spat as Harry walked past him without a glance. "Let me out and fight me like a man!" Not likely. Harry left him struggling.

Harry heard a crack and crash from within the building. The ceiling must be collapsing. This was good and bad news - if Draco was within then he would surely not survive the destruction, but if the house did collapse then any remaining wards on the grounds would vanish and Harry wouldn't need to move any further away for the tracking on his wand to be picked up by Bill Weasley. He could be saved. But for now, the house remained standing, and so Harry continued around it to try and find his new comrade.

It didn't take long for the werewolf and his prey to become apparent. After weaving his way around the fallen bodies of the two cloaked figures, Harry again flipped around the corner, wand outstretched.

Ahead of him, staring in his direction a little ways away from the fire, stood Greyback.

He still had Draco in his grip. Harry felt sick to his stomach to see the way Fenrir's claws were digging into the blonde man's neck. Malfoy didn't look well. He had one hand in a weak, useless grip around Greyback's wrist, and the other was hanging at his side. His legs didn't look steady, and it seemed to Harry that the werewolf was currently the only thing holding him upright. His face was white, white as the snow they were standing in, and his breathing was shallow.

Greyback, on the other hand, had never looked more alive. His breathing was rapid and deep, his eyes gold in the daylight and his mouth opened in a joyous, toothy grin. The hand he didn't have wrapped around Draco's neck was holding a wand - his own or Malfoys, Harry couldn't tell from this distance.

"So fucking predictable, Potter!" He roared, hand tightening on Draco's throat. Harry could only watch as the smaller man choked and coughed, hands scrabbling uselessly at the massive paw at his neck. "Tell you what," Greyback started, leering, "I'll trade you. No more running and..." He glanced at the fiery mess the house was rapidly becoming behind the three of them. "No more little fireworks from you, and I'll let this pathetic little shit go." He leaned down to whisper something else into Malfoy's ear. Draco screwed his eyes up, cringing away from him as he gasped for air.

"How about it then?" Greyback barked. Harry raised his wand, slowly. The situation was far from hopeless, but hostage situations rarely end well. Harry knew this. He had to tread carefully if he was going to retrieve Draco alive. He watched as Greyback narrowed his eyes and pointed the wand he was carrying at Malfoy's head.

So that was how it was going to be. Draco was Greyback's only tactic. If Harry looked like he was going to attack, Greyback would threaten the blonde. Jesus, Fenrir really thought the pairs' little dalliance in the living room held that much importance to Harry. Or he just knew that Harry would never leave someone behind. Either way, he was putting a lot of stock in this one plan.

Okay then, this called for a suitable response. Harry turned and walked away.

It didn't take long for an angry snarl to reach his ears.

"You're just going to leave him then?" Greyback tried to play on Harry's guilt. Harry kept walking. "You really don't want to do that! What, you think I wont do anything?" Harry reached the corner of the house again and turned without hesitation. "You think I wont... I'll fuck him right here, I'll fucking tear him in half Potter, you coward, you pissy little shit, you-" The insults and threats followed him. Harry almost stopped at the threat to rape Draco, his leg seizing up involultarily.

As soon as he was out of sight of the werewolf (but, unfortunately, not out of earshot), Harry stopped and turned. He knew what he needed. He just had to work for it. " _Incendio_." He muttered, aiming his wand at the bottom of the wooden wall. This piece of the structure was the outside wall of somewhere in the living room, he knew it. Close to where the blaze was hottest. Good, then this wouldn't take long. The orange jet hit the wall and spread a web of glowing heat, The centre of the blast caught fire, but it quickly calmed to a glowing ember. " _Incendio_." Harry repeated. Again and again, until-

Harry's head whipped around as he heard a strangled yell of pain from around the house. Malfoy. Greyback had done something. He needed to... but no... Harry forced himself to turn back to the fire he had made, which as it spread, began to get hotter and more intense. It had joined forces with the fire within. Brilliant.

" _Fluxus Ignis Nunitus_." He breathed, pointing his wand at where the fire was hottest. He tried to ignore the cries he was hearing from the snow beyond. His stomach was in knots, his throat a dry husk, his fists shaking as they clenched. A soft green glow danced from his wand to the fire, where it spread its colour. A portion almost as large as Harry shone emerald.

"Lupin, I'm here, it's Harry! It's a cabin in Canada, it's... it's on fire... I can't get away far enough for the tracking to kick in on my wand, but - Death Eaters are here! And I've taken down a few but I can't - there'll be more soon! Find me!" Harry ended the message with a desperate shout. The green fire faded back to its usual yellowy-orange, and the heat from it hit Harry all at once. He flew backwards, stumbling to land on his arse in the snow.

The spell he'd cast was a variation of the same spell used to converse with people through a traditional fire, only it was modified to allow a message to be sent without the aid of floo powder. With any luck, Lupin was present at Grimmauld Place and would see the message immediately. Harry knew it was a long-shot to hope they'd find him before Greyback did any major damage to himself or Malfoy, or before Death Eater backup was summoned. A heart-piercing scream rang through the air, grabbing Harry's attention like a grenade going off in his face.

Draco.

Job done, he turned back and sprinted for the sound. He rounded the corner, wand arm outstretched.

Greyback was where he'd left him, a brown figure of hate in the white snow. Sprawled in front of him was Malfoy. Harry didn't stop running, even though the sight had him leave his stomach behind. Malfoy, a black smudge on the ice, was on his back. His shirt was open, revealing his pale, oh so pale, torso. Except that pale wasn't as unmarked as the last time Harry had seen it. Rivers of red ran from the once-healed scars. The sectumsempra marks that Harry himself had left had been riven open by a curse, or claws or... or... Harry's mind became a single pitch, a furious beam of hate and sound.

Greyback barely had time to look up from where he stood, laughing down at the seizing man on the ground beneath him.

Harry was on him in a second. Wand forgotten, he launched his whole body upon the werewolf's. Landing hard but upright, he descended upon Fenrir. His fists were like hammers, slamming again and again and again into the Death Eater's face. Anything to remove that hideous grin.

Harry saw red, and that red was his bezerker like rage no longer. It was the hot, thick, dark red mess that Greyback's face had become.

Smaller than the werewolf he might have been, but the white hot, blinding anger he'd felt had given him strength, and it didn't take long for his strikes to render Greyback first stunned, then unconcious, then dead.

Harry wasn't aware of his fists breaking. His body was numb, his ears deaf. He just kept hitting and hitting and hitting, the fury coming from every nerve, every cell. He punched for Draco, for himself, for Dean Thomas, for everybody he'd seen hurt, for everybody he'd seen killed.

"Harry! Harry!" Sound came back to him slowly, like emerging from underwater. Harry blinked. His breathing was steady, his vision clearing. He shifted, frowning as he tried to work out what he was sat over. In front of him, on the floor, was a bloody, mushy, mincemeat like mess of bone, flesh and... oh god...

As Harry recognised teeth, an ear, hair, eyes, he pushed himself backwards violently, twisting his wrist and falling from what he quickly realised was Fenrir Greyback's still body.

"Harry!" He turned at the familiar voice.

"Lupin?" He croaked. Feeling started to return to his body, most notably in his hands. Shakily, he raised them up in front of him. His stomach turned as he saw the mess they were in. Red with his blood and Fenrir's, knuckles almost all broken, the odd finger twisted. Swelling and gashes and lumpy fractures. He'd delivered blow after blow until he physically could not anymore. The pain was like heat, pulsing up his arms and dizzying his brain.

"Harry?" He remembered what had caught his attention. Looking up, the most beautiful sight greeted his eyes. Remus Lupin. The man stood before him, looking between Harry and the mangled corpse beside him with revulsion. Harry instantly felt overwhelmed with shame.

"I... I..." He couldn't begin to twist his words into any form of excuse for his actions. But at his sound, Lupin turned to him, face clearing. He smiled.

"It's okay, Harry." He said, softly. His voice was low and rough, his eyes warm and relieved. Harry wanted to stand to embrace him, but couldn't find the strength to do so. He sat, blinking up at the older man, the cold snow seeping in through his jeans. Then another thought occurred to him and once more, his gut clenched. His head span quicker than his blood could handle, and he nearly fell as the vertigo hit.

"Draco..." Harry breathed as Lupin caught him in strong arms before he could fall. Over his friend's shoulder, he could just about see, with fading vision, a body lying still in the snow. Then unconciousness claimed him.


	10. Home Sweet (Redecorated) Home

**A/N: second time lucky trying to upload this bastarding chapter. leave us a cheeky review if you enjoy chapters filled with necessary filler! also my b guys, my b**

Autumn is for dying

Chapter 10

Harry didn't open his eyes when he woke. Just laid there. He was experiencing no amnesia, no confusion, he was totally aware of how he'd come to be unconscious and the events preceding. His dreams had been just darkness, welcome oblivion. He was laid in a bed, he knew that much, soft cotton cocooning him. The room he was in was quiet, his ears picking up neither voices nor any footsteps. He was warm, but not too warm. In fact, he seemed to be the perfect temperature - a dead giveawa magically controlled environment.

But he wasn't in the mood for investigating his environment. No, he simply laid there, content for the moment to pretend that he was still asleep. He was probably in Grimmauld Place or The Burrow or some other Order safehouse. He was safe.

But was Malfoy?

It was that thought that propelled him to open his eyes and let in the world. Dim light allowed him to see his surroundings without them overwhelming and blinding his tired eyes. Yes, magical environmental control. Somebody was treating him with kid gloves. Harry sat up, feeling sharp stabs of pain running up the ligaments in his forearms. His hands were bandaged up, each finger individually wrapped like he was wearing white linen gloves.

The bed he was in was large and old, the room decorated with hangings and pictures that had not begun as his own but had come to be that way over time. He was in his own room, in Grimmauld Place.

Relief didn't course through his veins as it should have. It's path was dulled by the sick, scared feeling burrowing its way up his gullet. Was Draco alive? The last thing he remembered seeing in that cold, icy wasteland was Malfoy's still body, bloody and broken in the snow.

Harry's hands were sore but not broken, and he used them to gently push the sheets from him, freeing his legs to swing over the side of the bed. His stomach ached with hunger. He must have been out for a while. Somebody had left him a jug of water and a glass on the dark wooden cabinet beside his bed, and his wand placed delicately next to that. How thoughtful.

He poured himself a glass, manoeuvring his hands around the jug slowly and carefully. Dehydration would put him back on his arse quicker than anything else would.

It felt strange to be back in his house, back in safety. He wanted to feel happy, feel razor like exhalation at the idea, but he couldn't. Tears sprang, unbidden, to his eyes as fear made his hands shake and throat close. He was terrified at the thought that his own lack of control in dealing with Greyback had left Malfoy lying, bleeding out, dying in the snow. A simple stupefying hex would have taken care of the werewolf and Harry could have helped his fallen companion. Instead he lost himself in the fury and Draco... god Harry hoped he wasn't dead. Harry finished the glass of water and placed it back on the cabinet.

He should stand. Leave his room. Find out what had happened. But ignorance seemed easier than finding out what he was so sure would be a sickening truth. Harry sat for a while in the gloom, hands hurting and a hot tear dropping from his eye to his knees. Someone had dressed him in his own grey, flannel bottoms. He watched as the tear soaked in, becoming a tiny circle of darker grey. The sound of his own breathing, steady yet unsteady, was all he could hear.

He reached out with a shaking hand and picked his wand up, lightly playing with it between his fingers. He felt that little tingle, that hum of magic that had been missing when he held it for so long.

How fortunate it had returned just in time to defend himself from the Death Eaters. Maybe the vomiting of the previous night had helped flush the potion out - Harry made an internal note to ask Hermione later.

Hermione. God, he missed her. And Ron. It was this sudden ache of longing to see his friends that spurred Harry to movement. The cloud in his mind, the fear, was still present, but he tried to breath through it.

The door opened easily, cold brass handle turning under his bandaged hand.

Harry stepped into the corridor. It was lighter than inside his room, and colder. The walls, once lined with peeling wallpaper and rotting sideboards, had undergone a serious redesign after Harry and his friends had stayed there for a while. Hermione had helped him repaint them white, while Ron and his father had taken great joy in using muggle appliances to rip off the old wooden borders and replace them with new.

The lights had been difficult to change, previously flickering, old-fashioned magical candelabras, it had been a few weeks of careful wiring before they'd managed to switch on the cheery orange bulbs that now lined the corridor.

The house had taken surprisingly well to electricity once the deeds had switched to Harry. Magic affected it occasionally, but Hermione and Lupin had worked to protect most of it from most of the damage.

He walked slowly along the corridor, drinking in the familiarity of it all. It still smelled new. The slight chill made him wonder if he should have pulled on a shirt, but it was nothing compared to the cold of the cabin. Reaching the staircase, he began to hear muffled voices from downstairs.

His legs weren't shaky but he still didn't fully trust his body so he kept tight to a wall, a hand placed lightly on the banister as he descended.

The voices got louder and louder as he went down, two floors, to the ground floor. Not all of the rooms had been reupholstered, and Harry could still see traces of the old Black decoration as he made his way down. Old paintings that they couldn't remove, bookcases that seemed too grand to dispose of.

"- fourteen? I don't know." Harry pushed the door to the kitchen open. Faces immediately turned to him.

"Harry!" The light in this room was even brighter and warmer than the corridor. The air smelled like food; warm bread and chicken. Harry squinted slightly to see who had greeted him.

Lupin stood, a broad smile on his face, at the end of the large dining table. Around the room were Harry's friends. Ron, a mouth full of food stationary as he looked wide eyed at Harry, Hermione, rising to her feet, tears springing to her eyes. Molly Weasley, frozen in the doorway to the next room, hands clutched up to her mouth.

It was Hermione who had greeted Harry and she followed it up with a mad, chair-pushing dash over to grab him in a tight hug. He returned it, burying his face in her dark hair. She smelled of lemons and soap. He felt her shake in his arms, sobs racking her slight frame. He didn't speak, didn't need to.

"Harry?" A male voice, Ron's, reached him, and he pulled away from his crying friend to look back at the room.

Ron (having swallowed whatever it was he'd been chewing on) had risen to his feet and moved to join the pair of them. Harry shifted to make room for his best friend in the embrace.

Happiness finally overwhelmed the fear in the back on his neck. His friends. He was home. Finally.

They held each other for a long time, saying more with tight squeezes and little sniffs than they could with words.

"You gave us quite a scare, Harry." Remus admonished with a sparkle in his eyes. Harry had taken a seat at the table and Molly had instantly placed a plate of food in front of him. He hadn't needed much encouragement to dig in, the hole in his stomach bigger than ever.

"Sorry 'bout that." He replied through a mouthful of hot, buttered bread. The food was a deliciously far cry from the sparse rations he'd been living on in the corridor. He ate until he felt sick and, seeing the gusto with which he tucked in, the other inhabitants of the room had left him in silence to shovel it down.

Finally, with a rather impolite belch, Harry set his fork down and sat back, sated.

"You got my message then?" He asked, looking back up to Lupin as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. The werewolf was sitting, contentedly watching him eat, occasionally sipping from a wine glass. He shook his head, frowning.

"Your message?"

"Oh." Harry was disappointed. "Must not have worked then..." Remus leaned in, placing his glass down.

"How did you send it? When?"

"I used Fluxus Ignis Nunitus." Harry replied, glancing over at Hermione. She was sat next to Ron, and Harry noted with surprise, he had his hand resting over hers on the table. They didn't seem to notice his surprise at this. Or at least, they didn't move it. Huh. Maybe his kidnap had done some good at least.

"Wait a second..." Lupin stood, pushing his char back and standing. The chair's legs screeched in protest as they dragged along the tile floor.

"Remus." Molly admonised. "Lift your chair."

"Sorry, Molly." Harry wondered where the rest of the red haired clan was, but didn't worry. If Ron and his mother were sat happily here, they couldn't be far. He watched as Remus walked over to the fireplace, grabbing a pinch of floo powder from the metal jar on the mantle.

" _Nunitus Arcessere_." He muttered into the flames as he sprinkled the silvery-grey sand over the flames.

They blew higher, turning a dark green. For a second, Harry thought nothing would happen, but then -

"Lupin, I'm here, it's Harry! It's a cabin in Canada, it's... it's on fire... I can't get away far enough for the tracking to kick in on my wand, but - Death Eaters are here! And I've taken down a few but I can't - there'll be more soon! Find me!"

Harry shuddered to hear his desperate cry played loud, his voice cracking towards the end. Silence fell in the room as the flames died back down to a calm orange.

Lupin turned back to the room, face grey. "Shit." He said. He walked towards Harry. "Harry, I'm so sorry. I didn't - the spell, I didn't know you knew it, I'd have been checking, I'd have never stopped checking-"

Harry stood, raising a hand to interrupt the distressed man.

"Remus, it's alright!" He said, soothingly. To his left, Hermione had her hands over her eyes, Ron sat sadly with an arm around her. "You found me anyway! I'm safe!" Lupin grabbed him around the shoulders, pulling him close for a firm hug. Harry allowed it, rubbing his face in the rough wool of his jumper. He smelled like smoke and paper.

Harry broke the hug this time, gently pushing Lupin back.

"How did you find me, then?" He asked curiously, sitting back down. Remus walked back to his seat and it was Hermione who answered.

"Your wand." Her voice was high and emotion-filled. Harry watched the solemn Ron tighten his arm around her shoulders, and her lean in in response. He was happy for this development in their relationship, whatever it was. "Bill finally got a response. He alerted Lupin and they apparated to you straight away. Me, Ron, Prosper, Tonks and Neville came as soon as we heard, but you didnt need us." She blinked and looked slightly proud. "You'd taken them all down."

"Bloody good job on Greyback." Ron said gruffly, eyebrows raised, face impressed. "Brutal."

Harry didn't want to think about the remains of Greyback's face, soft and hot against his fists.

"The wards on the cabin must have fallen." Remus explained softly. "It was collapsing when we arrived. Good idea on the fire." Harry nodded, absently. He'd hoped that would be the case, but was sure his message would have worked.

"We're all just so glad you're back, Harry." Molly added. She had reappeared back in the room, wiping her hands on a bright yellow dishrag. "You were missed."

"Knew you'd fuck them up." Ron grunted, earning himself an elbow from Hermione and a sharp look from his mother.

"How - where..." Harry trailed off. He wanted to know, had to know. The fear had been rising as time had passed, he knew the bliss of ignorance would only carry him so far. His face heated up as four faces waited for him to finish, expectantly. He coughed.

"Yes?" Molly urged, patiently. Harry took a breath.

"Malfoy." He said, looking up into Lupin's face. "Was he- is he..."

"Alive?" Remus guessed, raising an eyebrow. Harry nodded gratefully.

"Yeah, you didn't quite finish him off." Ron snorted, taking his arm from Hermione and leaning on the table, brushing his hair from his eyes. "You gave it a good go though! Same curse as before, was it?"

Relief flooded Harry's veins. The knot disappeared from his throat and he felt like he could sing. Malfoy was alive. He hadn't died due to Harry's mistakes. God, he could bend and kiss the floor.

"He's downstairs." Lupin was watching Harry with dark eyes, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Along with Jeffer Artread. They were the only ones left alive."

Even better, he was here! Harry schooled his expression to a blank curiosity.

"Why here?" He asked, picking up the glass of wine Molly had been more than happy to pour for him and taking a small sip. It was fruity and soft, a sweet treat. A large step from the last alcohol he'd had - the flame filled whiskey that had started everything. Remus settled further back into his chair, resting both arms on the wood and tilting his head. Harry felt uneasy, he knew what Remus' face looked like when he was trying to solve a puzzle. He'd been there, Harry remembered, when he was kneeling in the snow and blood and the one thing on his mind and lips had been Draco.

"There was an attack in South London a few days ago." Lupin explained. "The Ministry wasn't able to spare any aurors to come get them and take them to Azkaban. They asked if we could hold them for now."

The Ministry of Magic had been made aware of the Order's existence and tolerated them as welcome allies in the war. It had been more than any of them could have hoped, they were treated as equals. Like an unofficial department of their own.

Harry nodded slowly, drinking more wine. He had to consider his next move. To the Order, to his friends, Malfoy was the enemy. More than that, Draco was the reason Harry had been taken in the first place. It would be a tricky manoeuvre to persuade the others that not only had Malfoy defected but he needed their help to rescue his mother from the clutches of Voldemort. He had to be careful.

"Okay." An abrupt but appropriate answer, he thought, breaking eye contact with Remus and maintaining his blase attitude about the whole thing. He didn't want to hint at any potential interest he had in the blonde before he was sure nobody would immediately accuse Malfoy of influencing him one way or the other. Harry could already hear Hermione in his mind listing off the various ways Harry had been compromised, from the imperius curse to Stockholm syndrome.

"Perhaps, Harry," Molly Weasley started, folding her arms and smiling. "You might want to get some more rest? I'll ask for Prosper to swing by tomorrow to check on your hands and face?"

Prosper was one of the healers the Order had managed to recruit a few years ago. Friends with Tonks, he'd actively volunteered to join them and offer his services. Harry liked him. He was quirky like Tonks, tattooed arms and piercings abound on his body, short black hair wild and spiky.

"Good idea." Harry said and didn't have to fake the yawn. He said his goodnights and hugged everybody tightly again. He didn't miss that Hermione and Ron lingered back together, still sat close and whispering to each other.

It was only 7pm when he sat on the bed with a full stomach from the hearty meal and slightly woozy head from the wine. He was going to have to wait until much, much later if he was going to sneak down to see Malfoy. Might as well have a nap in the meantime.

But the cock crowed and dawn crested and Harry slept on, waking only when the smell of breakfast came weaving and winding up from the kitchen. Shit. He'd missed his chance.

He berated himself but realised there was no sense in remaining grumpy, he'd just have to ensure he made it downstairs that night instead.

After a quick shower, trying and failing to keep the bandages on his hands dry, Harry made his way to the kitchens.

Molly wasn't responsible for the delicious breakfast smell that morning, no, to Harry's surprise Kreacher was preparing breakfast.

"Kreacher." Harry greeted him cautiously. The house elf barely spared him a disgusted glance over his shoulder. "Good to see you too."

He seemed to be the first awake, and for a moment considered sneaking down to Draco. But the idea was scuppered when Hermione walked through the door, yawning and stretching.

"Oh!" She startled when she saw him. "Harry!"

"Good morning." Harry smiled at her, leaning against the doorway to the cooking area. She smiled at him in response. She looked pretty, her eyes bright and skin clear. Harry wondered if this was purely due to him being safely back, as he knew from past experience that when stressed she tended to break out in spots. Her hair was pulled loosely back into a ponytail, wild strands bumping and curling here there and everywhere and Harry watched as she brushed one from her eyes before taking a seat at the kitchen table.

"It's still a bit strange to have you back." She admitted, leaning her face on her hand. Harry opened his mouth to respond but was interrupted by Kreacher barging past his legs to deposit a steaming cup of coffee on the table beside her elbow.

"Thank you, Kreacher." She said with feeling. The elf simply grumbled as it left the room.

"Since when has he been this helpful?" Harry asked, taking a seat near to her and laughing slightly.

"Since you left, actually." She admitted, wrapping her tanned hands around the mug. "Don't know what changed but suddenly he just... started doing things." She ducked her head, smiling. "To be honest we all thought that if - when you got back, he'd go back to being awful." Harry noticed the slip.

Hermione looked good, but he knew that she must have been going through hell for the half a month or so he was gone. She would have taken the lead on all investigations, insisted on joining every search party, researched far and wide, day and night for a spell, a charm, a clue anything she could use to help find Harry.

Harry reached over to touch her hand. She looked up at him, her hazel eyes meeting his green. They just looked at each other for a second; two old friends, two battle companions.

"Glad you are back though." She said. Harry sat back.

"I missed you."

"I missed you too."

Harry decided to break the soppy atmosphere and allowed a cheeky look to grace his face.

"Kind of looked last night like you and Ron didn't miss me all that much, to be honest."

Hermione immediately blushed and squashed a palm to her face, groaning.

"You noticed then." She said, hand over her eyes. Harry laughed.

"Hard not to."

"Sorry."

"What on earth for?" Harry chuckled, stealing her mug to take a drink of the hot, black liquid. "I'm happy for you both. Just don't forget about me when you're making moon-eyes over the table, holding hands and blowing kisses and playing footsie- ow!" Hermione had kicked him.

"How's that for footsie." She laughed.

"Bloody hell, don't know how you pulled him with that kind of violent foreplay." Harry joked, rubbing his shin. Hermione rolled her eyes, shaking her head.

"Fuck off, Harry." She said playfully.

They sat, gently bantering about nothing until the rest of the house rose. It seemed Molly had gone back to the Burrow the night before, and the two other men were late risers. Eventually, when they were all sat around the table, Kreacher served breakfast.

"Oop," A brief violet flare of fire had Remus tilting back in his chair to toss a little powder on it and shout, "Who?"A crackly mumble responded and the werewolf nodded, "Come on then."

He let his chair fall back onto four legs as the fire raged green. "It's Prosper." He informed the table.

A figure appeared in the flames and then fell out of the fire clumsily.

"Morning, Prosper." Ron greeted the man. Prosper stood, shaking the ash from his robes and looking around the room.

"Morning, all!" He said, cheerfully. "Harry." He nodded at Harry, walking over to him. Harry rose to give him a quick embrace. He smelled of disinfectant and liquorice.

"Good to see you Prosper."

"You too, man. I was at the cabin but, ah... you didn't need the backup." He winked at Harry, who shrugged awkwardly. He hoped the healer hadn't seen the mess he'd left of Fenrir. If he had, he didn't seem fazed, reaching up and gently tipping Harry's head to the side to inspect the cuts and scratches the wood had left.

"It doesn't hurt." Harry informed him. Prosper nodded, examining it with narrowed eyes. He released Harry's face with a smile and an 'ok' sign.

"It wouldn't hurt, you tit, I put some numbing cream on when you got in."

"Oh, that was you." Harry nodded. "Yeah that makes sense. I thought it might have been Lupin."

Prosper snorted.

"You'd rely on this old fart when you got me around?" Lupin threw a bread roll at the back of the punk's head.

"Careful." He warned. Prosper threw him a grin over his shoulder.

"No offence, my man, no offence. Nah," He turned back to Harry. They were the same height, and Harry looked at his sparkling blue eyes as he talked. "I was with Neville when we got the call from Bill so I came along. Then when we got you back here, I had a quick look at you before I had to jet off." He reached down without announcing to take both of Harry's hands in his own. "Now let's look at your boxer's fists shall we, Rocky?"

Prosper had given Harry some more cream for his face and declared his hands fit for use, only rebandaging the thumb and wrist of his right hand where two of the worse fractures had been. The young healer had stayed for the end of breakfast and had a brief chat with Lupin about South London (apparently he'd volunteered to act as a medi-wizard after the attack) before bowing out, claiming a lunch date with a hot young wizard as his excuse.

"I didn't know he'd broken up with Elio." Harry commented after he flamed out.

"According to Prosper, Elio has decided to... take up residency with a, and I quote, 'dickhead Irish musician'." Hermione scoffed lightly. Ron had sat by her again after greeting Harry that morning and they'd shared a plate of toast.

"I asked what instrument this musician plays and he just said 'Elio's fucking prostate', which..." Ron swallowed his toast, grimacing, "Well, it's more than I needed to know, to be honest."

Harry and Lupin laughed, Hermione settled for looking amused at Ron's slightly green expression.

"Did anybody ever actually meet Elio?" Lupin asked through a mouthful of cereal, frowning.

"No, I don't think so." Hermione replied, looking to her friends for confirmation and receiving head shakes. She shrugged. "Prosper said he was going to bring him over for a drink but that never happened. Tonks said Elio was okay, though." Tonks' word in this clearly held a lot for Hermione.

"Tonks not coming over?" Harry directed the question at Lupin, who gestured with his hand.

"Your guess is as good as mine, she mentioned something about South London and disapparated there directly from Canada after we knew you were safe." Lupin sounded exasperated with the young witch's behaviour. The werewolf had never exactly told Harry that he and Tonks were dating, but she'd certainly spent a lot of boozy evenings celebrating in Remus' room after successful battles.

"Is anybody else coming?" Harry didn't mean to sound petty but he'd fully expected a ceiling-burning welcome home party, not because he thought his return merited one but because that was just the way the Order tended to do things.

"I don't know, Harry." Remus shrugged. "But I'd suspect not. Not yet."

"South London was pretty bad, Harry." Hermione reminded him. To be honest, Harry didn't know much of what had gone on in the capital city, but as he thought he realised he should have clicked on it was big when the Ministry couldn't even send one auror to take Malfoy and Jeffer away.

"What happened?" He asked. Ron looked down, mouth pulled tight. Hermione shifted in her seat. It was clearly a sore topic but Harry wanted to know.

"A lot of explosions." Lupin admitted. "A lot of muggle deaths and most of the Ministry flooded when an explosion compromised the space where its halls cross closely near to the Thames. It's taking quite a few people to help clean up and wipe that many memories."

Harry understood. A welcome back party might have been nice, but helping heal after a terrorist attack was nicer.

"Can we help?" He asked Ron and Hermione, both of whom immediately looked wary, Ron's eyes flickering over to Lupin. "What?"

"I know you don't like being grounded, Harry," Ron began, "but you only just got back and you're still not totally better." Whilst he was not wrong, Harry still felt annoyed at the coddling. He'd taken the environment controls down from his room as soon as he'd re-entered the night before. He hated people treating him like a child.

"I'm fine." Harry insisted. "You heard Prosper, i'm 'fit for service'."

"Yes, but that's Prosper, and he's just like Tonks. They don't know when to say no. You're more important than that Harry, we can't afford to lose you again." Harry wanted to argue back against Lupin , but couldn't form the words.

"So you just want me to sit here, on my arse?" He demanded, annoyance rising.

"Yes." Remus said bluntly. "Until you're 100% okay again. We don't want to make it any easier than it already is for them to grab you."

Harry ground his teeth, looking away.

"It won't be forever, Harry. We can spend the time doing research!"

"Oh joy." Harry tried to stop himself rolling his eyes at Hermione's predictable, wide eyed suggestion. "Okay, fine. I'll stay in until Prosper takes the bandage off my hand." Harry waved said hand at Hermione and Ron. "Good enough?"

"You don't have to stay in," Ron said, face looking as if Harry had suggested something stupid. "Just take a five from... Death Eater shit. Voldemort related activities. Action business."

"Are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting?" Oh, Harry hoped Ron was. His red haired friend's freckly face broke into a wide grin, just as Hermione hid a smile, rolling her eyes.

"Yep. Pub."


	11. Chains, Tender and Rough

**A/N: Ah, I'm sorry, this chapter is real fucking long. I got carried away and before I knew it boom, ridiculously long AND a smutty scene. It's towards the end and yes jenny, you can skip it. I hope you like! C: leave us a cheeky review if you do!**

Autumn is for dying

Chapter 11

The next few days passed in a blur. The pub had become a rather heavy night of celebratory drinking and another night's opportunity to sneak down and see Malfoy slipped from Harry. And no amount of trying to convince Molly Weasley he'd rather chill at Grimmauld Place had been enough to stop her half-dragging him to the Burrow the following afternoon for dinner. It seemed alcohol was becoming something of a downfall for him, a few glasses of wine pressed into his hands and he would be too sleepy and happy to even think of making the steps downstairs to challenge his blonde problem.

He was, however, determined to not let any more time pass. Guilt was starting to nag at Harry. He was sure that Lupin or whoever had been placed in charge of caretaking the prisoners wasn't starving Malfoy, but it could hardly be comfortable for the man.

It was the following day that Harry saw his opportunity. The incident in South London had been dealt with enough for the majority of the Order to take a night off of their duties and had, thanks to Tonks' influence (so Harry was told), decided that it was a perfect time to throw Harry a raucous welcome home party.

The Order wasn't the same organisation it had been back when Dumbledore was alive. Then it was full of secrecy and sadness, mainly made up of the older, war-worn generation. Men and women who'd already had the misfortune to take part in the first war when they were Harry's age and had been yanked back from their homes and lives to spearhead the resistance a second time.

But after Hogwarts had closed, their ranks had seen a considerable boost. A few of the Hogwarts' older kids had been invited to take roles in the Ministry, a lot had simply gone home to their parents to weather the worst of the battle in the company of their loved ones, but a surprising amount had come to Harry, to Ron, to Hermione and asked where they could best help their friends.

It made sense, in a way. Adults had been in charge all along and nothing had gone right. Whereas Harry, a kid around their age, had openly and without secrecy challenged Voldemort successfully more than once. They'd responded to this, and Harry had gladly channelled them into the Order.

So parties tended to be loud and frequent, lighting up Grimmauld Place with music and laughter and smiles that had that edge of desperation that came with the knowledge that this party might be the last, this drink might be the last, this hug, this kiss, this small touch here or this longer one there.

The kids were adults now, but nothing had changed. They weren't winning, but they weren't losing. And they all believed in Harry.

So the party would take place the following day. Tonks was organising it, but if it was like any of their other get-togethers, people would show up in dribs and drabs from late afternoon onward, greeting the occupants with wide smiles and offered bottles. Music would blast, people would dance. Hangovers would be brewed.

And Harry would use the noise and madness to sneak away.

"You think Hannah will stay over again?" Ron asked Harry through a mouthful of bread. It was his usual pre-party ritual, eat half a loaf of bread with an insistence that it would prevent him from throwing up firewhiskey later. It rarely worked, but he did it anyway. They were stood in the kitchen, Harry perched lightly on a worktop and Ron leaned against the one opposite. It was small room, narrow and lit with an uncomfortable yellow lighting, and Harry's knees were inches away from Ron's folded arms. He didn't mind the closeness, not when it was Ron.

Harry took a slow bite of dry bread, offered from him directly from the bag by his friend. He wasn't hungry but it was Ron's ritual and he'd spent enough weeks without his friend already.

"Hannah Abbott? No idea, why?" Hannah had stayed over last time they'd partied, collapsed drunk with several of her friends from Hogwarts and a guy that Harry hadn't recognised but Ron informed him was an ex-Hufflepuff who currently ran errands for the Ministry. He'd had a rather mean, pinched look about his face, dark eyes flitting here and there. But Hannah had plied him with whiskey and cola and he'd loosened up and relaxed into the party, and had accepted the unspoken invitation to crash with Hannah in one of Harry's spare rooms.

"She's stayed over with a different guy every time we've had a party for like... half a year." Ron snorted. Ah. So the Hufflepuff had simply been the current obsession of the little blonde. Harry wouldn't look for him tonight then. Harry shrugged.

"No idea." He repeated. "Anyone can stay, we cleared out more rooms since the last one." The bread was too dry to be nice; stale and crumbly. He chewed slowly, trying to formulate a good plan and excuse for later just in case sneaking out in silence wouldn't cut it.

"Harry?"

Lupin had appeared at the entrance to the kitchen, blinking between Harry and Ron with warm eyes.

"'sup?" Harry swallowed painfully, putting the bread down next to him. He'd leave Ron to his rituals, he decided.

"I've got some things to sort out, I'm gonna head out for a while."

"You gonna miss the party?" Harry asked, mildly alarmed. He'd been counting on Remus being otherwise preoccupied when he crept away. With him elsewhere Harry couldn't guarantee that he wouldn't be interrupted and discovered.

"Maybe just the beginning." Remus started stepping away. "I'm meeting Tonks, we'll come together." Harry's relief at this was interrupted by Ron's dirty snigger.

"Yeah, I bet you will."

Laughter at Ron's childish retort burst through Harry's nose. Remus threw the pair of them a long suffering, eyebrow raised look as he retreated.

"Get a grip, Ronald." He commented lightly, mouth twitching up at the sides. Ron laughed at his back, taking a happy bite of bread.

"It's gonna be a fun party." He mumbled, lightly tapping Harry's knee with his elbow. Harry nodded. Fun and hopefully, very distracting.

Hermione arrived back from the Burrow, where she'd been visiting Ginny, fairly early. She greeted Ron with a kiss (followed by a pink-cheeked smile to Harry) and then headed upstairs to get ready. Ginny gave her brother a rather hard pat on the shoulder before sweeping to Harry and grabbing him in a crushingly hard hug.

"I'm so glad you're okay." She mumbled into his shoulder. Harry embraced her back just as hard. She smelled like sweet perfume and talcum powder and, if Harry wasn't mistaken, slightly of alcohol. He smiled into her hair; the girls must have decided to have a small pre-drink before returning.

"I'm glad I am too." He said, for the thousandth time since he'd returned. He knew he'd say it a hundred more times before the night was halfway done. She pulled back and looked him in the eyes. Her freckled face was tan and slightly flush, her mouth slick with a dark lipstick that only served to highlight the white of her teeth, currently on show as she grinned at him. She was taller than Hermione, as tall as Harry. She was leaner too, slender and strong.

They'd made a go of it, her and Harry. But the constant danger, separation and threat that occupied their worlds was not conducive for a healthy budding relationship, so they'd called it quits. To be attempted again after the end. Or not. They'd decide then.

"I brought a bottle of rum." Her eyes sparkled as she raised a bottle to head height. Harry chuckled as he glanced at it.

"You brought half a bottle of rum." He commented. She winked at him.

"Hermione wanted to get started early, it was all her idea." Harry highly doubted that, but then he knew she'd never expect him to believe her. Brushing a light kiss over his cheek and squeezing his shoulder one last time, Ginny followed Hermione upstairs.

"You look positively suave, Harry." Ron commented as he walked past Harry to the drinks cabinet. Harry laughed, running his hands down his shirt. Black, tight fitting and a rather thin cotton, he'd felt like it only made him look like the skinny runt he knew he'd become recently.

"I can only describe your look as 'overly sexual', Ron." Harry threw back. Ron tipped an imaginary hat at his friend as he leaned down to choose a liquor. His friend was wearing a button-up grey shirt, sleeves pushed up past his elbows, and black trousers. He'd not lost the weight Harry had and so was filling the sleeves much better. Harry tried not to feel a twinge of jealousy.

"Okay... do we want a vodka-cranberry or gin and tonic?" Ron straightened up, weighing the two liquors in his hands like he was seeing which was heaviest.

"So are we fifteen year old girls or fifty year old divorcees?" Harry raised an eyebrow. Ron laughed and shook the bottle in his right hand.

"Fifty year old divorcees we are. Good choice." As he poured the drinks sloppily, Harry moved to answer the doorbell.

People would show up through the door if they were bringing somebody new to the enclave, and the fire if they were coming unaccompanied. They arrived quickly, as if Hermione and Ginny's arrival had been a signal, and within an hour the house was buzzing.

Friends, old and new, all greeted Harry with varying versions of 'welcome home' and 'glad you're alive'. He recycled his responses, accepting bottles on behalf of the house and from Luna, a cherry pie.

"I didn't think you'd have been eating enough, stuck in that cabin." She said in that soft, musical lilt of hers. Harry frowned slightly, he hadn't realised the details of his capture had been spread throughout the Order. She smiled prettily and ran a pale hand gently over his cheek.

"Neville told me. Don't worry, I wont share." She said, before turning away and dancing into the crowd. Harry was glad to see her. Glad that she'd made it this far, fragile and fairy like as she was.

He mingled for a while, waiting for Tonks and Remus to arrive and settle in before he made any moves. By the fire, several people including one of the Weasley twins (Harry couldn't tell which from this far away) were playing a drinking game with a deck of Exploding Snap cards. The carpet was already singed and a drink had been spilled. A movement caught his eye as another smoky 'SNAP' filled that side of the room with laughter and the sound of somebody chugging their drink. He watched Hermione quickly approach the group, admonish the Weasley twin then cast a protective curse on the carpet beneath the cards, before leaving them to it.

Harry smiled. Hermione was, and would always be Hermione. Even when drunk and otherwise occupied in a tangle of limbs with Ron on a chair.

"Hey, Harry!" Harry turned to accept a hug from Seamus Finnegan. The Irishman, so loud and brash as a teenager, had quietened immensely since the death of Dean Thomas. Hermione had, in hushed tones, explained to Harry that the relationship between the two boys had developed into something... new, since the closing of Hogwarts. The loss had hit Seamus hard, and although he still plunged into battles with the same vigour, it was no longer with a wild smile and bright eyes - now it was with a sharpness, a bitterness, an anger. Harry patted him on the back and clinked his glass against Seamus'.

"Good to have you back." Harry nodded his thanks, taking a drink. He winced, Ron had mixed this one and it definitely wasn't to the book's measurements. "Heard that you took down Greyback."

Did everybody know? Harry nodded, taking another drink in discomfort. Seamus didn't seem to notice.

"Yeah." Harry said, for lack of any other response. Seamus nodded enthusiastically.

"And five other Death Eaters, I heard." He said, raising his glass to toast Harry again. Harry reluctantly touched his glass to Seamus' again. He really didn't want to hear about this.

"About that." He agreed. He wished Hermione or Ron was here to distract Seamus. And he really wished the Irishman wouldn't mention -

"And captured Malfoy!" Shit. Harry took a quick breath and a quicker drink. Bloody hell.

"Yep." He said tightly. Seamus seemed to finally notice Harry's discomfort, but completely misinterpreted it.

"Ah, you can't slay them all." He said encouragingly, as if Harry was sad he hadn't managed to kill Malfoy too. Harry didn't want to think badly of Seamus, but he couldn't help wishing he'd fuck off.

"Nope." He said through gritted teeth. Seamus nodded and stood in a further minute of awkward silence before raising his glass for a third time. Harry touched it one more time.

"Well, I'll get back to party." Seamus said, nodding. "Glad you didn't die, Harry." That line, knowing that Seamus was still mourning Dean, made Harry's stomach clench and regret fill him at thinking bad of his friend. It wasn't his fault.

"I'm glad I didn't die too." Harry said quietly, trying to convey his sorry's through his eyes. Seamus might have seen it, might not have, but he left anyway to go and talk to someone on the other side of the room.

Harry felt hollow when he left. The guilt he had at his abandonment of Draco was swelling and rising, making the alcohol swirling around in his gut broil into a nauseous mix. He wished Tonks and Remus would hurry up.

As if the stars were listening to him, the fire flared green and the werewolf appeared, followed closely by the violet-haired Tonks and the lanky figure of Prosper.

"Yes." Harry whisper-cheered, hurrying over to Lupin and pressing a beer into his hand. Remus laughed at Harry's apparent enthusiasm, patting his cheek like he was a child and opening the bottle with one hand.

"Hello to you too, Harry." He said, swigging from the bottle and throwing an easy arm around Tonks.

"Wotcher, Harry." She grinned. Her eyes were the same brown as Lupins tonight. Harry thought that was probably a good thing.

"Alright, pal." Prosper swung around the side of Tonks, propping a hand on her shoulder. He was wearing black, as usual, but his hands were now adorned with several heavy silver rings.

"Tonks, Prosper." Harry greeted them, wishing he'd thought to grab two more beers. They didn't seem to notice, or mind, though.

"How's the hand?" Prosper asked, reaching a hand of his own out to clasp Harry's bandaged fingers gently. It didn't hurt as he manipulated the smaller man's wrist, gently rotating it.

"Can't feel a thing." Harry smiled. Prosper nodded, glancing over Tonks' shoulder to Remus.

"There you go, told you. Actually fit enough for action." Remus didn't look happy at this, but Harry felt ecstatic.

"Sick." He said, grinning. Prosper grinned back, dropping Harry's hand and stealing his drink with a swift motion.

"After tomorrow's hangover, anyway." He said, taking a long drink and nearly choking. "Jesus Christ, Potter, you trying to kill yourself?" He gasped, passing the drink down to Tonks who took a long swig and didn't make half the pantomime, although she did wrinkle her nose.

"Did Ron make this?" She asked, handing it back to Harry.

"Yeah." Harry laughed. "He has no idea what size a single is."

"Ban him from making cocktails." Prosper advised, amusement passing over his face. "Or you'll run out of booze before the hour's up." Harry disagreed as almost everybody had brought at least one bottle. They'd have enough booze for the next six parties.

Remus excused himself to go have a word with Arthur Weasley, stood in the kitchen with a circle of some of the other older Order members, enjoying the party in a slightly more... mature manner; a box of wine on the counter beside them and Luna's cherry pie half gone. Tonks followed her partner and Prosper moved to Harry's side, running a hand over the side of Harry's face. The cuts there had healed almost perfectly, leaving only tiny little pink lines here and there.

"You're right as rain." The young healer murmured. Harry, suddenly aware of the proximity he was to the punk, flushed a little pink. Prosper noticed, because of course he would, and stepped back laughing. "Sorry, dude." He winked. "Always had a thing for bruised brunettes." Harry laughed back, if a little awkwardly, and secretly wondered how bruised and brunette Elio had been.

"I'm gonna get a drink." Prosper said cheerfully.

"Don't let Ron make it." Harry said as he left. Prosper raised a hand in silent acknowledgement.

Harry reasoned that another half an hour would do it, let everyone get relaxed and tipsy and less likely to notice his absence.

The corridor to the basement was well lit, but the white door ahead held a sense of foreboding for Harry as he approached it. The music and shouting was muffled behind the closed double doors he'd exited through. Hermione had noticed him leaving, but accepted his toilet excuse with alcohol bleary eyes and a too-easy smile. She was quite drunk, sat half on her own seat and half on Ron's.

Harry hadn't finished his first drink, making it last long enough that he always had one in his hand to avoid people questioning his sobriety, and had placed it carefully down on a cabinet before exiting the party room.

As if the house wanted to create a creepy atmosphere, when Harry opened the door slowly a cold blast of air hit him. It smelled damp and rusty, stale and unwelcoming. They'd tried to wire the basement with the same lights as the upstairs, but even Lupin's cleverest charms couldn't stop the magic in the air from shorting them out. So they'd instead fitted some rather elegant looking brackets along the walls for torches. Rather medieval, but Harry hadn't ever thought the room would actually be used for a dungeon so it had just seemed a whimsical touch at the time.

Harry flicked his wand, igniting the torches wordlessly and lighting his path down with a warm, orange glow. The door clicked shut behind him as he took a step in and it was like stepping underwater. The party might has well have been in another house, in another country for all he could hear of it now. Harry wondered if it was thanks to a silencing charm or just the almost air-lock tight fit of the door.

A shiver ran down his spine as he cast a small lumos charm to help boost the light of the torch, ensuring he didn't take a tumble down the stairs. The air was cold, much colder than the house upstairs or even than the outside. Guilt rose in him again, Malfoy had been down here for a few days, in the cold and dark. Fuck.

Harry slowly reached the bottom of the stairs, running a hand on the cold stone of the wall. It was dry sandstone, not slimy like the dungeons in the castle, but other than that it reminded him an uncomfortable amount of the place he'd been captured.

The stairs ended with a sharp right turn to a narrow passage, torch lit to reveal three heavy wooden doors. When they'd first ventured down into the beneath, the rooms had been filled with junk, both expected (broken chairs, torn books) and the obscure and dark (strange metal contraptions fitted with leather straps, bent knives and red stains). They'd cleared it all out, discarded nearly everything, and cleaned the three rooms. At the time Harry thought they were clearing them to make space for three more spare bedrooms, but Lupin had disagreed, insisting they be left bare and cold, hinting that they may, at some point in future have the need to detain someone in a secure place.

And indeed they had. Harry didn't know which of the three rooms Malfoy was in (or the brash Jeffer) and he'd have to enter to find out. He wondered if the prisoners were secured by anything else besides the thick, dark wood of the doors. Would he be attacked as soon as he opened the door?

The little alcohol he'd consumed writhed and danced in his gut. Nerves mixed with guilt mixed with gin. Harry felt his fingers tingle as he raised a hand to clasp the metal of the first door handle.

"Alohomora." He whispered, watching a white ray of magic fill the keyhole. He heard a tiny 'click' and, steeling himself, opened the door.

The room was empty. Stone floor met stone wall with nothing but dust to break the grey. Harry released a breath he didn't know he'd been holding, temporary relief flooding his veins. He pulled the door shut, hearing the magical lock click back into place, and moved on.

This was it. With only two more doors, this next one would either hold Draco or Jeffer. Harry hoped it wasn't Jeffer. He didn't think the man had been particularly injured in the blaze and fight. He felt like he was opening a tigers cage, resting his hand on the second door handle. The cold didn't stop a bead of sweat trickling down his neck, soaking into his shirt.

"Come on, Harry." He breathed to himself. " _Alohomora_." Harry raised his wand to a defensive height, ready to defend himself, a stunning spell resting on his lips.

It wasn't necessary. The room, lit only by the white light still following him from his lumos charm, revealed a figure, curled in on themselves against the far wall.

Harry couldn't see his face, but he'd recognise that hair anywhere.

"Malfoy?" Harry spoke from the doorway. The head didn't rise, the body didn't move. If he wasn't sat in a position unbecoming of the dead, Harry would have begun to worry. The air smelled worse in here, that rusty smell revealing itself to be (Harry's lips tightened and his eyebrows drew together) blood. Swallowing, Harry took a step in. His steps sounded loud on the floor, his breath heavy.

"Draco?" Harry only turned his head away long enough to gently close the door, allowing it to re-lock. "Draco?" Harry repeated the other man's name as he approached. He wasn't scared of the blonde, but he was scared of the situation. Scared that he was too late, that the promises he'd made would never come to fruition. That Malfoy had risked everything to give Harry a chance to escape and Harry had let him down.

Harry fell to his knees in front of the prone man.

Malfoy was asleep or unconscious. He was held in a sitting position against the wall by chains securing his wrists on either side of his head. Now Harry was closer and the light bright in the dark, his stomach clenched at the sight.

Draco did not look good. His face, pale on the best of days, was ashen. Blood had dried on his neck and chin where it had fallen from the wounds on his chest. Harry's hand twitched as he observed those wounds. They were no longer gaping, not the monstrous, deathly life draining gashes that Fenrir had riven by hand or wand, but they had only been closed by what Harry would guess was a quick battleground patch charm. The skin around the tears was puffy and dark, his shirt still wide open. His breathing was so shallow that Harry had to stare closely to even be sure that he was inhaling.

He should have come down earlier, should have made more of an effort, should have tried harder. He had been so sure that Lupin would be taking good care of prisoners of war, but then - why would he? Why would he treat the man he thought had captured and tortured Harry with anything but the barest minimum of compassion? Harry cursed himself, cursed Remus, cursed Fenrir fucking Greyback.

"Draco." Harry whispered, leaning in closer and touching the side of Malfoy's face with the very tips of his fingers.

That got a reaction. Draco jerked back, arms taught against the chains. He was awake, eyes wild. Harry had to make a quick move back to avoid getting hit by one of Draco's feet.

"Draco, it's me!" Harry stuffed his wand in his waistband, reaching out with both hands to grab Draco's legs, holding him still by the knees with only the smallest pressure. Draco was abominably weak, Harry's heart fell. "It's me!" He didn't know why he thought that would calm the man, but he couldn't think of anything else to say. Draco tried moving back, pushing himself hard against the wall, his eyes wide but unseeing. His breathing was ragged, his chest sounding wheezy like his lungs were struggling. Harry's own panic rose as he noticed Malfoy's struggles were beginning to reopen the cuts on his chest, small trickles of blood working their way down his torso. Shit. "Malfoy! Stop, you're going to hurt yourself - Draco!"

He wasn't shouting, couldn't risk anybody hearing it. Fuck. Releasing his skinny knees, Harry lunged forward to grab Draco by the shoulders. He pushed him against the wall, Draco's shirt slipping on one side under Harry's grip. His skin was cold and sweaty, he was shaking, hard. He slammed his head back against the wall, hands straining against his bonds. Harry could see the fragile, translucent skin rubbing and breaking against the silvery chains. This wasn't working, he couldn't make Draco's eyes see him. Harry watched, tears almost rising to his own eyes as Draco cracked his head back again, neck twisting to try and break free from Harry's grip.

"Draco, please." Harry's voice was a cracked whisper. Draco's struggles were slowing, he clearly hadn't the energy to keep them up for much longer. But he was hitting his head and hurting his wrists and the harder he panted, the more his wounds opened. Harry needed to do something, but his mind was blank and his ears filled with a panicked white noise and he was leaning in, whispering Draco's name, trying to get through to him, to make him understand.

His mouth met Draco's without his brain giving the command. He kissed him hard, using his own head to push Malfoy's back to the wall, stopping him from wrenching it around. The other man froze, eyes finally focusing on Harry. A keening sound came, unbidden perhaps, from his mouth, and he tasted of blood. Harry kept his mouth on Draco's, himself breathing heavily, until he felt the other man stop moving completely, until the only movement he felt beneath his hands was the uncontrollable shivering.

He pulled back, only a few inches, just enough to look into those panicked grey eyes.

"Draco." He whispered again. He had no explanation for why it had worked, for why it had even been a move he'd considered. But it had, and Harry let relief numb his senses for a second as he stared at Malfoy. Draco's lips were parted slightly, his eyes blinking quickly and his brow furrowed as he watched Harry, as if he was trying to figure out what was going on. Harry let him stare, waited for a response. He kept his hands on Draco's shoulders, sat next to him, leaning over his body and trying not to put any weight on the other man.

"Harry?" Draco finally croaked. His voice was tiny, his breathing erratic. Harry nodded slowly, pulling back further. It didn't occur to him at the time that this was the first time Malfoy had ever addressed him by his first name, but it would later.

"Yeah." Harry answered. He sat back, releasing Draco's shoulders gingerly and propping himself up on one arm. He used the other hand to gently grip Malfoy's chin, feeling stubble and dried blood under the pads of his fingertips. "I'm sorry." It was all he could think of to say, and it seemed to hit a note in Malfoy. He pulled away from Harry's hand with such little strength that Harry could have resisted with a fingertip. But he didn't, letting his hand drop to the floor.

"What are you doing here?" Malfoy asked, voice hoarse. He let his his head fall back to the wall with a motion that belied true exhaustion and not relaxation.

"I..." Harry started and stopped. What had he come down for? He knew he couldn't just spirit Malfoy away, not with the house full of drunken Order members and a party in full swing. Nor could he bring Lupin down, convince the werewolf that Malfoy was on their side, that he was the reason Harry had been able to escape. That he'd willingly stood between Greyback and Harry, had allowed himself to be taken into Fenrir's claws for Harry. Harry himself had put paid to that plan when he'd made it part of the evening to get Lupin drunk in order to leave the room without being seen. Malfoy watched him with tired eyes. Harry gave up on thinking of a reason, gaze dropping to Malfoy's injuries.

Well it would be the least he could do right now, to try and heal him. All business and bustle, Harry startled the restrained man by lurching up to his knees, drawing his wand. At Draco's large flinch, Harry lowered it with an apology. He crawled around Draco, pushing down on his knees in order to get closer access to Malfoy's ruined chest.

Draco let himself be moved, barely putting up any resistance. He watched Harry. His face was hollow and the skin beneath his eyes darker than ever, and his eyelids seemed to want to flutter shut. The struggle he'd put up seemed to have used up any energy he'd had. Harry didn't let the knot of fear rise to his throat, busied himself with gently pulling the remains of Malfoy's shirt from his shoulders. Each touch of skin was answered with a small flinch from Draco, even as it sent tiny sparks through Harry's fingertips. He didn't let himself think about that, though.

The light from his lumos was fading, and Harry knew he'd need a good, bright, white beam to allow him to see what he was doing if he was going to cast his cleaning and healing charms right, so with a quick warning to Draco to mind his eyes, he threw the light higher in the room.

It was even more horrible to observe the other man in the faux-daylight. He was all greys, reds and blacks where he should have been a healthy pink. Harry fumbled for a moment, trying to get as close to Draco's chest as he could without crushing the other man's legs, before giving up and accepting that he'd have to manhandle Malfoy a little more.

He asked permission, but Draco was gone, eyes closed and breathing too light. Harry, with as much care as he could muster, manoeuvred Malfoy's legs until they were crossed, pulling his hips back slightly from the wall so his head would be tilted back a little rather than bent low over his chest, then sat directly in front of him, knee to knee.

"This will hurt. I'm sorry." Harry had to say it even though he knew the blonde couldn't hear it. He remembered back to the day in the cabin when Draco had bandaged his feet, removing shrapnel and cleaning his wounds. It seemed so long ago.

Harry wiped a bead of cold sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand and conjured some clean, white linen.

" _Aguamenti caldium_." He whispered. The addition to the water spell would ensure the liquid would be comfortably warm. He angled the tip of his wand at Draco's collarbone, letting the water fall down his chest. It quickly soaked Draco's clothes, then Harry's, but Harry kept it flowing, gently dabbing at the raw skin until his torso was clean. The bloody water was just black against Harry's trousers, them already too dark for it to make a difference, but Draco's jeans stained a deep blue where it fell. Draco gave a faint moan, but didn't move, and Harry was heartened to hope that he would be able to get it all over with without Malfoy waking.

Harry didn't bother casting a drying spell just yet. He had to remove the infection from the gouges before he could close them properly, and that could prove to be messy.

This was why he and his friends hated battlefield dressing charms and avoided them at all times but the most dire. Unlike other healing charms, they were never taught alongside any other processes that would help clean a wound before they were sealed and amateurs would just cast them willy-nilly at any break in the skin. Then they'd go off, thinking they were right as rain and be caught completely unawares a week later when they were hospitalised or dead with septicaemia.

Harry had gone to great lengths to ensure he was competent with at least the basic healing and cleaning charms. And it had not gone to waste, Ron's facial scar would be much worse if Harry hadn't been able to tend to it as he had - them being unable to get to a hospital for many days after that particular battle.

Harry had to stop his hand from shaking before he pointed his wand at Draco's chest again. " _Auferat malusque_." Just as Harry had worried would happen, Draco roused with a sharp intake of breath as the spell began to work on the largest cut. He jerked forward, eyes squeezed shut against the sting. Harry put a hand on his bare shoulder to steady him, keeping his eyes on the charm as he slowly pulled his wand down Draco's torso.

The wound had begun to squeeze out any infection, leaking through Draco's chest in dark rivulets of blood. Draco was panting, his chest rising and falling rapidly as his eyes flew open to meet Harry's. For a moment Harry thought he might start thrashing again, but recognition flooded his dark eyes and he stilled, face pursed through the pain.

Harry finished the first cut and immediately moved onto the second, each pain filled sound Draco made cutting a slice of his own out of Harry's chest.

It didn't take long to finish, but Draco's chest was again painted with blood and Harry had to repeat the water charm to clean it, this time with Draco watching his every move.

The cuts looked much better now, clean and un-inflamed, and Harry congratulated himself a little. It was perhaps the only area of magic he excelled in over Hermione, who had turned out to not possess the gentle touch needed to perform it.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked. A stupid question, and it didn't get an answer, simply an unbroken gaze. Harry took it as a sign that he was okay to continue anyway, and levelled his wand back at Draco's chest.

" _Vulnera Sanentur_." Harry danced his wand in the serpentine motion required to encourage the spell out of the wand and to Draco's chest. He watched as the cuts seemed to bind themselves together, the harsh, jagged edges sealing to red lines. The charm only needed one incantation, moving across his torso to suture each gash, one by one.

Harry finally breathed when the silvery light faded, its job done. He reached a hand out to lightly touch the skin, pale and whole once more. Draco didn't flinch at it this time, and Harry looked up to his unreadable expression.

"What?" He finally had to ask, withdrawing his hand. Draco blinked at him, then glanced down at himself.

"Not bad, Potter." The praise was given freely, without a hint of begrudging. Harry felt embarrassment as his cheeks pinked with pride at the comment. "You're fucking filthy now though."

Harry snorted at the comment and looked down to see how true it was. Blood, water, pus... both his lower half and Draco's were absolutely covered. Harry waved his wand with ease to cast several cleaning and drying charms, only realising how uncomfortable it had been once he was rid of the dirt. Draco's jeans jumped several shades lighter after Harry was done cleaning them, and Harry could just see the clean grey of his underwear poking out from the top. He didn't stare, aware of the eyes burning a hole into his skull.

"How do you feel now?" Still a stupid question to a man chained to a wall, but Draco inclined his head to one side.

"Better." Harry cast a couple of _Episkey_ spells under his breath to Draco's sore looking wrists. He wished he could unbind him, but whilst the door could be opened with a simple _Alohomora_ the enchanted metal was a different matter entirely. He looked up at Malfoy's face. He still looked tired, still looked thin and hollow, but his face no longer held that feverish sheen, his eyes were less bright with pain and fear. His head was once again leaned back against the wall, his sharp jawline angled upwards and his eyelids half closed as he looked down at Harry.

"Good." Harry spoke without noise, his voice suddenly escaping him. He looked at Malfoy, and for the first time, he really looked. The other man was attractive. Even here, even now. Tied to a wall and beaten down. Only minutes pulled from infection and injury. Stubbly and thin. Tied to a wall and shirtless.

Harry's throat was suddenly very dry.

Heat rose in the back of his neck as he realised that he was having an extremely inappropriate reaction to the situation, and he scooted back from Draco, needing to extricate his legs from where they were, pressed hard against Malfoy's.

His mind jumped back to that drunken night in the cabin. It hadn't bothered Harry in the slightest, seeing it as just two pent up, emotional people seeking release, but now he was here and Malfoy was there...

Draco noticed Harry's sudden awkwardness, lifting his head and raising an eyebrow, casting a look down Harry's body.

Harry was sure that in the position he was in, Malfoy wouldn't be able to see any... embarrassing features, but his face flushed a hot red anyway.

"See something you like?" Draco's voice was low and hoarse, his eyes dark and his mouth curled into a half-sneer half-smile.

"What? No. What?" Harry stumbled over his words. He should be used to Draco's quick turnabouts in mood by now, but he wasn't. Draco moved suddenly, scooting his hips back until he was sat straight, flush to the wall and bending one leg up at the knee.

"Come here." He said.

What. What. What. Harry gaped like a drunk goldfish. Malfoy watched him, amusement dancing in his eyes before he repeated his previous command.

"Potter. Come. Here." Harry rose to his knees, brain a white noise machine, body acting of its own accord, and moved forward. Malfoy waited for him to get closer, not that he could do much else with his hands attached to the wall as they were. Harry moved in and in until he was as close as he dared get, painfully aware that his trousers were forming an uncomfortable tent over his very obvious erection.

He stopped in front of Malfoy's legs, still a good foot away from the other man. Malfoy paused, looking Harry up and down in a way that sent tingles through every nerve in his body (when had this become a thing?) then slowly unfolded his other leg from the floor, bending it at the knee and sliding his feet out from each other, giving Harry access. As he watched Malfoy do this, Harry had to remind himself to breath.

"Well?" Malfoy said, voice low. Harry had to force himself to move, had to make himself break from the spell he was under by the utter absurdity of the whole situation. He placed himself between Malfoy's legs, pressing his body against the other man's and lifting shaky hands to carefully take Draco's face and hold it still. Draco only allowed him a second though, and Harry could feel his body tensing as he pushed forward to kiss Harry.

Harry kissed him back, just as he had in the cabin, burying his hands in that hair, still somehow silky after days of sitting in this dark room alone. Draco gasped against his mouth as Harry pulled a little, his neck tilting up. His legs wrapped around Harry, squeezing him tighter against his body, and Harry realised he could feel Draco's hardness against his hip. The position they were in, Harry kneeling and Draco craning his neck upwards, was uncomfortable, and in a sudden boost of bravery Harry reached down to sit down and lift Draco into his lap in one hard movement.

It seemed to be a good idea, or at least Draco seemed to agree because his spine arched under Harry's hands and he ground himself down against Harry.

Harry's breath left him but he kept his mouth on Draco's even as he ran his hands down the other man's spine, cupping his arse to pull him tighter and harder down on Harry's groin.

Malfoy was straining against the bonds holding him to the wall as he moved against Harry, little moans escaping from his mouth into Harry's. He broke apart, panting and gasping.

"You're gonna... have to..." Harry was interrupting him with quick kisses and Draco had to incline his head up to stop him in order to speak. "Fucking hell... Potter - I'm a bit tied up... you're gonna have to do... the work."

As he tipped his head back down to catch Harry's mouth in his own, Harry reached down, having been granted permission, to fumble awkwardly with Draco's zipper and push away his clothes.

Draco inhaled sharply as Harry took him in hand, pulling him from his pants. Harry watched, enraptured, as the blonde threw his head back, newly healed chest heaving. Harry worked him with one hand, quick strokes, and reached behind Draco with the other to grab his arse hard.

It didn't take long for Draco to come, trying and failing to keep a moan behind clenched teeth.

His come was hot and sticky on Harry's hand, and he wiped it on his trousers before reaching into his own pants and coming to completion himself within seconds, his head leaned low over Draco's chest and his breathing stuttering.

They remained like that, Draco on his lap and Harry bent over, head touching his torso and eyes closed, for a while, until their breathing was a more normal rate and Draco had relaxed back to the wall, arms heavy where they hung from the chains.

Harry had to dig deep to find the energy to move, carefully pushing Malfoy from his lap and casting a cleaning charm on the both of them, feeling oddly embarrassed as he tucked Draco's spent cock back in his trousers and zipped them back up.

"Thanks." Draco muttered, eyes shut. Sleep did seem like a nice idea now, but Harry was becoming aware, once more, of their surroundings and tried to persuade himself that it would be a terrible, awful idea for him to succumb to sleep here.

"You'd better go." Draco yawned, helping the decision along.

"Yeah." Harry looked at him again. His chest was healed beautifully, if Harry did say so himself, clean red lines that for all any outside observer could guess were drawn on with a sharpie. His face was currently still slightly flushed, his mouth parted a little as he breathed deeply. "I'm going to explain to Lupin that you helped me." Harry chose his words carefully as Draco's head slowly dipped down again to look at him. "But I need to be careful how I do it so he doesn't... suspect you of..."

"Of manipulating you." Draco finished it for him, nodding. "Yeah, that wouldn't make any of this better."

"No."

"Where am I then?" But Harry wasn't the secret keeper of the building and the basement was not, apparently part of the house, as he could open his mouth to explain but not form the words. Draco seemed to understand though, watching Harry's confused expression as he tried to talk but couldn't.

"Ah. Secret Order fortress then." Harry nodded. Draco shrugged. "Well, don't take too long doing it then, you might have healed this mess but this floor is bloody uncomfortable." Harry chuckled as he stood, straightening out his shirt and hitching up his trousers a little. "And come visit me again." Harry stopped and looked down at his captive. Draco's expression was serious, even a little demanding, but there was a softness to it that left its hook in Harry's stomach.

"Yeah. I will." Harry said, honestly. Draco nodded, and closed his eyes again, leaning back.

Harry left.


	12. Accusations, Confessions, Revelations

**A/N: It took a bit longer to get into this chapter, but I ended up really enjoying writing it, especially Draco's dialogue. I hope you like it too! Leave me a lil review if you do :)**

Autumn is for dying

Chapter 12

Harry woke in his own room again. He'd slipped straight from the basement to his bedroom without passing the party room. He didn't think it would be so unbelievable that he'd be too tired to pull the classic all-nighter, not when he was barely a week from captivity.

He laid on his bed, blinking sleep from his eyes. The guilt he'd been feeling in the pit of his stomach for so long had vanished to be replaced with a strange, but not unpleasant warmth. He felt faintly giddy. Smiling, he swung his legs from his bed and headed to the shower.

xx

"-lie _again_ after everything?" Harry frowned as he heard raised voices coming from downstairs. He sped up slightly, clutching the shirt in his hands he'd meant to pull on as he walked.

"What's going on?" Hermione and Ron were stood on one side of the room beside each other, facing a livid looking Remus. They were obviously in a fight - Ron's hands were clenched, arms bent at the elbow like he was readying to swing and Hermione's face was a dark red, mouth twisted into a half-snarl.

"What's going _on_ ," Hermione said, whipping her head to face Harry. Harry had to stop himself from taking a step back faced with her fury. "Is _him_." She pointed an accusatory finger at the werewolf, who was breathing heavily, his face dark. Harry hadn't seen him so angry in a very long time, and a knot formed in his throat as his brain scrambled for reasons. Could he have found out about Harry and Malfoy? But if that was the case, why was he mad at Harry's friends?

"There are only two people that can get through that door." Remus' voice was steady as he addressed Hermione, full of cold anger. Harry swallowed, knowing exactly which door he was talking about. "Me and you."

And me. Harry corrected in his head. And me. Fuck. When they'd been working on the dungeon, Harry remembered, Remus and Hermione had put their heads together to figure out a secure-enough charm to place on the basement door to prevent anybody coming and going without authorisation. They'd settled on a tame version of a blood charm that tied the casters to the lock security. Without Hermione or Remus' explicit say so, the first door couldn't be opened.

Harry's mouth grew dry as he remembered this. He kicked himself mentally. Why hadn't he remembered it when he'd been plotting to sneak down there?

This was a disaster because there was a very easy way around the charm for one single person. Harry. He'd figured it out accidentally a while ago, a few months after the downstairs renovations had been completed and he'd been wandering Grimmauld Place alone between missions. His hand had landed on the door handle and he'd twisted and just like that, the charm had accepted him and he'd been allowed entry.

Harry didn't know the ins and outs of the spell like Hermione and Remus would have, and he'd never gotten around to mentioning it to either of them, but he'd figured it was something to do with his deeded ownership of the house. It was his by rights and therefore by blood, and so the charm had included him without either of its' castors knowledge.

And now Remus was accusing Hermione and Hermione was accusing Remus. And Ron - the redhead's neck was pulsing with a vein that Harry knew meant he was moments away from lashing out - was presumably defending his girlfriend with his absolute knowledge that it had been Remus who'd transgressed.

But what exactly had the transgression been? Harry needed to know before he owned up to anything. Did he just have to explain Malfoy being suddenly healed? Or were they aware that... other things had happened? Harry's face began to heat up, starting from his neck and working past his ears.

"Listen, you stupid prick." Ron was saying, fists twitching. "She was with me all night, alright? So _you_ can stop lying!"

"What happened?" Harry interrupted loudly before Lupin could react to the insult. Three heads whipped to face him, finally giving him all their furious attention. Hairs stood up on Harry's bare neck and back as he looked awkwardly between them, shirt still bunched up in his hands. He wanted to pull it on but he also didn't want to take his eyes from any of them for even the second it took to pull the shirt over his head. "What happened?" He repeated, steeling himself for the worst.

"Jeffer escaped." Remus growled. The bottom of Harry's stomach dropped.

"What?" He breathed, questions and confusion flooding his brain. But he hadn't even gone anywhere _near_ Jeffer's cell. He'd tried the first, empty, cell and then moved straight to Malfoy's. From there... he'd just left the basement ignoring the third cell entirely, closing the door behind him... "How?"

" _Him_!" " _Her_!" Both parties accused each other at once, loudly and shrilly, with pointed fingers and twitchy wand hands.

"Admit that you got drunk and did something stupid you silly little girl!" Remus said, voice crackly and full of accusation. Harry was unsettled by Lupin's sudden strength of attitude. He knew the man had a side to him, but had never before seen it directed at any of them. Hermione on the other hand... he'd seen her wrath and fury plenty of times, and a few times directed at him and Ron.

He could see her back rising at the insult and the insinuation. He could see Ron's face purpling, watched him take a step forward. He could see Remus's eyes flicker to Ron, watched him move his hand to where he knew he kept his wand holstered...

"It was me!" The admission came as a panicked croak, desperate to get it out before any of his friends did anything stupid and hurt each other. The shirt slipped from his hands as he felt them sweat, felt his chest rising and falling with panic. Three heads whipped to him again, this time filled with confusion, shock and horror.

"What?" Remus' voice, still low with anger, had a shaky edge to it now.

"You can't have." Hermione whispered. She turned her body to him. "You can't have, Harry, the spell-"

"Doesn't work for me." Harry said quietly. He knew his face was red, flushed with guilt and embarrassment. He'd done this. He didn't know how, but it was his fault. There was a Death Eater somewhere with the knowledge of where the basement was, at least. Shit.

"What do you mean?" Ron asked, voice hoarse.

"I don't know. I think it's because it's my house." Harry didn't want to breathe. He didn't want to be here, wanted the ground to swallow him whole. To think, barely five minutes prior he'd been in the shower with a light heart and half a hard on, thinking about last night's dalliances and the possibility of future ones.

Hermione was frowning at him now, Ron looking back to her for any confirmation or explanation of this. Remus, after giving him one long, hard look, had thrown his head to the celing and then slumped back, sitting in a chair askew to the table.

"I... I don't know he got out though..." Harry began, finding it painful to swallow as he wiped his clammy palms down his sweat pants.

"The ward let you in because you own the house?" Hermione repeated the theory he'd just attempted back to him. She was staring at him without blinking, like she was trying to read the truth from his skin. Harry wished he had the truth to give to her. Wards... protections spells... the magic drawn from the deep and the old and signed over to him by Sirius Black... Harry had barely the first clue about any of it.

"I think so, yeah." He muttered back. He glanced over to Remus, who had propped one elbow on the table and had his hand squashed against his face like he was trying to push it through the back of his head. Harry recognised the fruitless attempt to push the situation away, felt the guilt that he'd been the one to do this. Felt the intense, painfully hot fear that burned low in his stomach whenever he did something stupid and... well to tell the truth, when he did something like this and got caught.

"I didn't think about that when we made the wards..." Her eyes, hazel and dark and full of thought, flickered to where Lupin was sat. "I didn't think about how the blood magic of the deeds would affect it."

"It shouldn't have mattered." Lupin looked up and Harry almost cringed as the full level of his accusation was directed at him. "Why were you in the basement, Harry? Why did you open the doors to the cell? What happened last night?"

"I didn't open the door of Jeffer's cell!" Harry cried, honestly. Squashing the urge to leave the room like a toddler facing the wrath of a parent upon discovering crayon scrawled on a white wall, Harry looked between the three other occupants in the room.

"You were looking for Malfoy, then?" Remus suddenly snapped. He leaned back in his chair suddenly, folding his arms. Harry didn't want to answer but there was nothing for him after that but expectant silence. He looked down at his feet, mind drawing a blank for excuses and explanations.

"Yes." He said quietly.

"But why?" Ron shouted.

"Is Malfoy still down there?" Hermione asked Lupin, who nodded.

"So is Karoff."

"Karoff? Who's Karoff? Where was he?" Remus narrowed his eyes at Harry and held up three fingers.

"Three cells. The one furthest from the stairs? Karoff. He was snatched up by our guys after South London." Remus lowered one finger, and as it sank, so did Harry's stomach. "Second furthest cell? Malfoy. As I'm sure you know." Harry's face burned. He wondered how much Remus knew, how much he suspected. "Cell closest to the stairs?" Remus lowered his final finger. "Jeffer."

"There was nobody in that cell." Harry croaked, remembering the empty, cold cell. Bare walls, bare floor. Nothing but stone and darkness. Remus shook his head, angrily, pushing himself up from the chair.

"Yes there was."

"You opened the door?" Hermione asked, quietly. Harry could have cried with how stupid he felt, how alone and foolish, stood before three of the people he cared and trusted the most in the world. He nodded, taking a sharp breath through his mouth.

"And it didn't occur to you that maybe Jeffer could have been using some sort of wandless cloaking?" Remus said, and the slight growl in his voice sent a tremor up Harry's spine. Unbidden, flashes of Greyback entered his mind. Not the dead, ruined mess of a person he'd been reduced to through Harry's furious beating, but the dark, evil, hulking shadow he'd been at the Hogwarts ambush. Golden eyes in the dark, sharp claws on his bare thigh, an inescapable horror at his back. Harry took an involuntary step back from the werewolf.

Seeing this shade of a flinch, Remus blinked. The tense, clenched, lined with anger figure he'd been casting melted, replaced with a horrified regret. He raised his hands, moving forward.

"Harry, I'm sorry -" Harry wanted to kick himself, but at the movement he flinched back again. He didn't want to have this fear of his friend, of any part of his friend. It wasn't Remus' fault that this primal side of him now triggered a sickening terror deep within Harry, but it did all the same.

At this, Remus took a step back, then three, then four, till the back of his hips collided with the table.

Hermione and Ron had been watching this little spectacle unfold with different reactions. Ron seemed to still be figuring it all out, eyes constantly flicking from Hermione to assess her response then back to Harry and Remus, like he wanted to step between but also kind of punch both of them.

Hermione was watching Harry with an expression that made him feel sick. A kind of sorrowful understanding. Harry didn't want her pity.

"It's fine." Harry held up a hand slightly, trying to stay focused on Remus but finding himself glancing anywhere but. He couldn't help but see Remus's brown eyes shining in the morning light, reflecting like cats eyes but in a gut-wrenching yellow. "It's fine." Maybe if he kept saying it, it would come true.

"Why did you go into the basement, Harry?" Hermione's voice didn't hold any of the furious accusation it had a few moments ago, but it was pressing and... almost knowing.

"I wanted to - I had to see him. Draco. Malfoy." Harry's voice was small but he tried to make it stronger. If it was coming out, then it was coming out, and the only thing for him to to was to stay resolved. He had explaning to do, he had to present a solid front that could abide no arguments.

It would, of course, have helped if this wasn't coming on the back of Harry accidentally releasing Jeffer from their care, but oh well.

"Why?" Ron asked roughly.

"I had to see if he was alright."

"Why would you care? He's a death eater. He's the one the grabbed you. He's the one that tortured you."

"No, he didn't." Harry snapped, defensively. Well. Malfoy was technically guilty of two of those three accusations, but one thing at a time. Harry wrapped his arms around his bare torso and sucked in a breath, readying himself. "I mean, he did take me to the cabin. And yeah, he is a death eater. But he's the only reason I escaped."

"Harry, I was there." Ron insisted, tan face screwing up, mouth tight and thin. "I saw what you did to everyone at that cabin. And it sure didn't look like you needed any help."

Red, black, blood on snow, skull pounded into shards. Harry shut his eyes to the flashes. His heart rate was fast, too fast.

"It was all so fast." Harry replied, stepping back with a hand outstretched behind him till he could feel the wall. He leaned back, craning his neck up to the ceiling. "They - he - Greyback." Harry swallowed, recalling the day. "They found us. Draco... he got between me and Greyback." Harry looked back down, trying to make Ron see what he was seeing, know what he knew. "He told me to run."

"So why the fuck didn't you!" Ron exploded, arms flung out. "Just because that slimy prick has a change of heart last minute doesn't mean he didn't mean to go through with any of it. In case you forgot, he did the exact same thing last time."

Night, stars, terror and fear up high. The astronomy tower was a night burned into the back of Harry's retinas, a backwards, silhouetted mirror image that would never leave him.

"It wasn't like that this time." Harry's voice was low, breathing slow but heavy. "We'd... we talked. He wanted to help before that. We -"

"You did what, Harry?" Ron asked, angrily. Harry watched his chest heave and his head tilt up slightly, chin angled a little to the insinuation. "What the fuck could Malfoy have done in three weeks that made you forget the last four years?"

Dots of pink spotted Harry's cheeks. He tried extremely hard to swallow down his reaction. Ron didn't know what had happened, didn't know what he was asking.

But, seeing this, he knew the very perceptive Hermione would sooner or later.

"I haven't forgotten the last four years." He corrected. "Do I need to? Did you for Greengrass?" He turned to Hermione. "Did you when the Zabinis found you in Oxford?" He whipped his head to Lupin. "And you with the fucking entire of Fort Penworth?" A mix of young and old Voldemort supporters, all waiting for Lupin and a troupe of Order members at the Fort last July had ended up surrendering with barely a fight. "We've all accepted defectors. It's kind of what we do." Harry was annoyed he even had to remind his friends of this. "Why is Malfoy any different?"

Ron almost went violet as he spluttered. "Because it's Malfoy!" He looked back at Hermione, then incredulously at Harry. "Have you... have you lost your mind?"

Maybe he had. Harry couldn't say for sure. Maybe he'd never been in his right mind. But he was in one mind when it came to Malfoy, and he could only hope from the bottom of his heart that he was following his mind and not his... well, his less distinguishing body parts.

"No." Harry answered, addressing Ron and Ron alone. He had always known Ron would be the most difficult to persuade when it came to the injured blonde in the basement. "Draco has made mistakes. But when I needed it most, he helped me. If it wasn't for him, if it wasn't for him risking his own life, I'd be dead now. Or worse." Worse indeed, he knew he didn't have to elaborate on the finer details of what he suspected Voldemort would have had in store for him.

"How do you know it's not all some sort of... ruse?" Hermione was asking him. Harry shrugged.

"I trust him."

"Well that's fucking stupid." Ron snorted. "You are aware how fucking stupid you sound, mate?"

"Literally fuck off, Ron." Harry finally snapped. "You weren't there."

"I wasn't where? I wasn't where Malfoy, you new best mate, kidnapped you to?" Ron's voice was getting louder and angrier, and Harry was reminded of the fights he'd had with Draco, how they'd all escalated beyond salvation. Maybe the problem wasnt Malfoy, he finally pondered. Maybe the problem was Harry. Shit.

"I'm not... I'm not saying that." Harry forced himself to speak calmly. "Look, I'm not asking you to trust Malfoy. Not at at all. But can't you at least talk to him? Interrogate him if you have to." With great difficulty, Harry looked at Remus, who was still leaned against the table watching him with a miserable expression. "Can't you just give me the benefit of that doubt?"

Lupin inhaled slowly through his nose, nodding. "Yeah."

Harry was heartened, but still needed any sign that his two best friends were on his side, any at all.

"He might be able to help find Jeffer."

"He might lead us into another trap." Ron replied quickly. Harry's eyes flicked to Hermione, who was observing him carefully. She reached up and put a hand on Ron's shoulder.

"It wouldn't hurt to question him." She said quietly. Her face was soft as she looked up at Ron, then instantly hard as she glanced at Harry. "Under veritaserum."

Well bugger and blast it all. There was no way what they'd done wouldn't come out if Draco was dosed with truth serum.

Harry quickly considered the options. And just as quickly realised he didn't have any. They were only supposed to be holding their captives at Grimmauld Place temporarily. If he couldn't persuade the current occupants of the house at least of Malfoy's relative innocence, he'd have no chance when the aurors came to take Draco away. Harry nodded.

"Yeah. Good idea."

"Remus, can you ask Prosper to get us any truth serum?" Hermione asked, throwing Remus a look over her shoulder. A rather cold look, Harry noticed. It seemed she wasn't quite recovered from Lupin's insults and accusations. Remus nodded.

xx

The door pushed opened once more with a cold, damp draught. Harry led the way, needing to prove that he could actually open the basement and wasn't making the whole thing up.

"Should we cast some sort of shield before we go in?" Ron stage-whispered as they all stood outside Malfoy's cell.

"He's secured to the wall, there's no need." Lupin said shortly before pointing his wand at the keyhole. " _Alohomora_." The lock clicked open and Harry braced himself for what he'd see when the door swung open.

His breath caught in his throat as Draco came into sight. His appearance was starkly different to the night before. He was still sat there, chained to the wall by both of his raised wrists, but other than that he couldn't have looked more at odds with himself merely hours earlier.

He was still shirtless (oops, Harry thought, remembering having removed the other man's shirt to heal his chest and not having had the presence of mind to replace it), the shredded remains of his top cast to either side of him. His chest was completely healed, Harry's charms and spells having woven art into his skin. The sectumsempra scars that he'd born since Harry had cursed him years prior had vanished.

His pale skin was flushed with a glow of health, clean from Harry's charm. His head was lolled forwards as he slept, his hair (silk and light and beauty) gently covering his forehead like the most perfect of shrouds. One of his long legs was stretched out in front of him and the other bent slightly at the knee and his hips (his arse, Harry's flushed brain helpfully supplied) were forward from the wall a touch. He looked, frankly, like he was posing for some sort of angel and devil calendar.

He hadn't stirred at the door unlocking or at their entry, but as Remus turned to raise a curious eyebrow at Harry, his head moved.

"He looks... remarkably well, Harry." Remus noted with a tone that said he knew exactly what had gone down in the small, dark cell. He'd been the one to bring Malfoy down here, of course he would have known the state of the blonde's injuries, and therefore notice his rather miraculous overnight healing.

"Harry?" Draco's voice was thick with sleep as his head rolled up, eyes open and squinting into the gloom. As soon as he saw that there was not one, but four looming figures ahead of him, he immediately tensed, all sleep leaving him.

Harry felt guilt wash over him, wanting to comfort the other man, but was gratified to see that the state of tense fear that their prisoner was displaying was nothing compared to the bone-shuddering feverish panic of the night before.

"Malfoy." Ron spat. Harry glanced at him through the corner of his eyes, watching his friend twitch almost imperceptibly ahead of Harry, a bare centimetre of shoulder between him and Draco. Harry wanted to be thankful for his protectiveness, wanted to try and remember to perceive the situation from his point of view. But he struggled.

"...Weasley?" Malfoy's voice was a shade from incredulous. Harry watched him crane his neck from side to side, scooting his butt back to sit straighter as he tried to distinguish faces in the silhouettes.

Harry couldn't help but notice how his pale chest was fluttering slightly, breathing light and fast. "Ron Weasley?"

"Why the fuck are we down here?" Ron snapped over his shoulder to Hermione, turning as if he wanted to leave. Harry simply stepped aside, the action taking him closer to Malfoy.

" _Lumos_." He muttered. Yellow light flared, causing all of them to squint as the sudden invasion attacked their pupils.

"Harry." Draco's sounded relieved as he blinked through the adjustment. Harry's heart lifted to hear his name spoken by the blonde in such a clear manner. God, he was good at healing.

"Hi." He said, simply, smiling.

"Draco Malfoy."

"Are we all just saying each others names then?" Malfoy suddenly snapped at Lupin, softness vanishing from his expression. "Professor Lupin? What a surprise. Hermione Granger? Another surprise." In another life his tone, dripping with arrogance and confidence contrary to his position, would leave Harry annoyed - angry even. But now, stood a few feet from his unlikely bedfellow, Harry simply wanted to laugh.

"Hello, Malfoy." Hermione said quietly. Harry could see her hand, gentle yet unyielding on the small of Ron's back. Not for the first time, Harry found himself glad they'd let the war bring them together. They were the water to each others fire, the utter definition of yin and yang. Where she was sharp anger, he was a friendly breath of trust. Where he was guns and rage, she was sense and reason. Harry watched Ron's hand reach back to gently brush hers.

"We... we came to ask you some questions." Lupin stated. He kept flicking his eyes back to Harry, questions in the big brown depths. Harry had no answers he could give before they'd heard Draco's truth. No answers that, right now, they'd believe.

"Oh, really?" Malfoy drawled. He too, kept glancing over at Harry, little flashes of grey that left Harry shivering. "What the fuck do you want to know that you can't already sniff out, werewolf?" Lupin kept his cool better than Ron, who snarled and thrust his wand forward.

"Keep it up, you pathetic piece of shit!"

Malfoy cringed away from the wand, its tip already glowing white hot with the expectation of magic. Harry's heart leapt forward before his body, but he caught it up pretty quick.

"Ron, no!" Before he could follow up his action with his brain, he was between the captive Death Eater and his friend, Ron's wand millimetres from his chest.

Ron let it fall, face aghast.

"Harry, what the fuck are you doing? It's Malfoy." It didn't matter to Harry how much he stated that as a fact. It no longer meant the same thing to him as it did to his friend.

"I know. Draco Malfoy. Draco Malfoy who saved my life." He raised his hands slowly, palms cold. "Does that mean nothing to you?"

"No." Ron's answer was quiet, but immediate. "No, it doesn't. Anything he's done, he's done for himself Harry, up to and including helping," He spat the word like it was hot venom, "you at the cabin."

"You don't know that." Harry pressed. "You can't know that."

"He's right, Ron." Hermione chipped in. "That's why we came down here. To find out."

"What's the fucking point." Ron didn't say it as a question and didn't wait for a reply. He spun on his heel, throwing a last confused, angry look at Harry before he pushed past his girlfriend and vanished out of the door. Harry looked to Hermione, half expecting her to follow him.

"I'm here for answers, Harry." She answered his look with that same soft, distant voice. Harry nodded.

"Okay. Draco," He turned again to see Malfoy watching Lupin with a mixture of distaste and fear in his eyes. The werewolf looked down at him, not bothering to hide his own disgust. Harry ran a hand through his hair, shivering. He wondered how it looked to the others, both him and Malfoy shirtless. They probably thought nothing of it. "Can you help me?"

"Yes." His answer, accompanied by an unbroken look, was sure and fast. Harry felt warm despite his nakedness.

"Okay." He tried not to smile, aware of Hermione's scrutiny. "Okay, that's... okay, erm." He desperately didn't want Draco to have to drink veritaserum to prove himself, having proved himself a million times over already in Harry's eyes with his willingness to throw himself under the truck that was Greyback's mercy, for Harry. But he had to. "Can you... would you drink truth serum?" He rushed the question out on one fast breath, swallowing hard at the end of it. He watched Malfoy take in the request, watched him take a breath and glance up at Hermione and Lupin. Watched him look back at Harry, worry written on the lines of his forehead but resolve in the set of his jaw.

"If you're asking the questions, yes." He replied, voice low. Harry nodded, perhaps a few times too many as he processed the faith with which Draco had just casually bestowed upon him.

"Okay. Good. I'll..." Harry coughed, tried to think how he'd planned to finish his sentence before giving up and reaching a hand out to Lupin. "Remus?"

Prosper had been oddly willing to hand over the truth serum, oddly unbothered by their unwillingness to explain why they wanted it. Simply waved his hand, threw them a charming smile and shouted something about a favour before floo'ing away. Harry liked Prosper.

"Just a few drops." Remus dropped the tiny glass tube into Harry's open palm. It was colder than he'd expected, the heat from Lupin's pocket and hand not having warmed it up at all. It glinted in the unearthly yellow glow of the lumos, the liquid seeming as thin as water but almost sticky in the way it clung to the sides of the glass. Harry let himself get almost lost as he contemplated the power he held in his palm. All the power that could be stolen through legilimency, administered through a few clear, tasteless drops. It was suddenly heavy in his hand. Harry briefly wanted to let it fall to the stone floor, let it smash, to stomp on the tiny shards with his boots and grind them to nothing. He hated the ease with which magic allowed people to dominate.

A cough stirred him from his reverie, however, and he knelt down to the expectant Draco's side.

"Are you sure?" If Ron had still been here, Harry was more than certain he'd have something to say about how it didn't matter whether Draco was sure or not, to just do it. But Harry had had enough consent denied him in the past regarding his own choices, he wasn't about to steal Draco's from him.

The blonde's answer was a tight nod. He looked uncomfortable again, hands clenched into tight fists above the chains, both legs drawn up to himself. Harry, without thinking, reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder, thumb grazing Malfoy's collarbone. The contact felt good, Harry knew, and saw it reflected in Draco's eyes, watched the tightness almost disappear from the corners of the man's eyes.

"Okay." Harry said. Malfoy nodded. Harry let go of his shoulder, slowly letting his hand drift up till he was almost cupping the side of Draco's face. He raised the tube with his other hand, pushing the lid from it with one thumb.

He paused a few inches from Malfoy's face, waiting for a further sign, for more permission.

It came with a measured inhalation, the gentle closing of those grey eyes and the parting of lips that Harry wanted to answer with the press of his own.

But he didn't. He sucked a guilty breath of his own in and let a few drops of veritaserum fall into Draco's mouth.

It was a few seconds of held breaths and stopped time before Malfoy's eyes flickered open again. They had the glaze of spelled about them. Harry stoppered the tube, pushing it into his pocket, and sat back on his heels.

Draco blinked around the room like he was drunk or stunned, eyes not focusing and lids heavy.

"We need to test him." Lupin reminded Harry quietly. Harry didn't want to look away from the other man, but he forced his eyes up and nodded. He remembered. He trusted Lupin to do this, so gestured for him to take the lead. Remus stepped in and squatted before Draco.

The movement drew those hazy grey eyes.

"What's your name?"

"Draco Lucius Malfoy."

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-two."

"How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Three."

"Where was the cabin that you kept Harry in?"

"Northern Canada. I don't know the region."

"Who is your godfather?"

"Severus Snape."

They were all easy questions designed to bait someone faking the effects of veritaserum, Harry knew. Lupin would continue them, peppering them with the odd question that Draco could not know the answer to ("Who did I attend the 1987 Yule Ball with?") and eventually hit him with a few questions that he didn't know that Lupin knew he knew. It was an art, to distinguish one truly under the effects, but Harry had seen Lupin employ his skills before.

It wasn't long before Malfoy had satisfied Remus' prying, and the werewolf straightened up, nodding at Harry. Hermione had been quiet throughout this, careful eyes watching proceedings, taking everything in. She didn't spare Harry a look. He didn't want to know what she'd see. His hand was almost twitching with the effort of not touching Draco, not putting a comforting hand on his arm or grazing his jaw with Harry's fingertips.

"Draco." Harry drew his attention and Draco's head swivelled to look at him. Harry didn't like the lack of expression on his face. It reminded him too much of the Imperius curse. "Are you okay?"

"My wrists hurt, my head aches and I'm worried about my mother." Draco spoke as if he was reciting a list. Harry nodded, he'd only asked the question accidentally anyway.

"Stick to the point, Harry." Hermione murmured in a song-like manner, quiet so as not to distract Malfoy's attention. Harry nodded, shifting uncomfortably before deciding to just sit on the floor, legs crossed.

"Okay. Draco..." He wondered how best to word his query to get the answer he wanted Hermione and Lupin to hear. "Draco, do you wish me any harm?"

"No, I don't." Phew, that was an easy one. Harry glanced up at the other two. Lupin was nodding slowly, as if in approval. Hermione's expression remained unchanged.

"That's good. Thank you. I don't wish you any either." Harry knew he didn't need to answer every confession with one of his own, but it felt good to say.

"I'm very glad." Draco's magical honestly was quite endearing, even when delivered from a rather zombie-like demeanour.

"Yeah... erm... okay, did you help me in the cabin?"

"Yes."

"Be more specific, Harry." Lupin gently chided. He'd moved to lean back against the wall beside Hermione, watching the pair of them. "He could have helped you with anything, how are we to know?" Harry nodded, he was right. Veritaserum was very potent, but just like any technique - magic or otherwise - there were some workarounds that one had to be aware of.

"Sure, okay... okay, did you help me to escape from Fenrir Greyback?" This one should be easy, Harry thought. He was struck, however, when Malfoy didn't answer immediately, as he had with all the other questions. The blonde looked like he was ruminating on the answer, biting his lower lip (in a totally not at all sexy way) and frowning.

"Yes and no."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, quickly, worry beginning to prickle at his neck.

"I didn't do anything to help you escape. But my actions led to your escape." Well that didn't sound promising.

"No, you did - tell them! Tell them what you did!" Harry pushed.

"When?"

"When Greyback at the others arrived at the cabin, when they found us! Tell them!"

Malfoy, eyes still glazed and unfamiliar, flexed his fingers slightly as he appeared to think.

"They arrived and I was very surprised." His recitation was as dead-sounding as all his other answers, but Harry found himself holding his breath with anxiety as he waited for the truth to come out. "Greyback was with them. I was... very surprised. I didn't know what to do. I froze. Then Greyback said something to you about me and... I remembered you were there. And I was scared. I couldn't understand why you didn't just go. I didn't want them to catch you again." He spoke in short sentences, like he was re-living the whole thing and explaining it as it happened. Harry hoped he wasn't. His face didn't look in distress but then under truth serum, it wouldn't.

"You didn't run. You were watching me and you looked scared too. I told you to run but you didn't. I couldn't understand why. You were so close to the door, you could have made it and run past the wards before they'd catch you. But you were watching me, and you were scared. Then Greyback was behind me, and he had me. And it was too late for me, but I still wanted you to go but you didn't go."

With shock, Harry looked on as an angry pink tinge flooded Draco's face. His eyes were still unfocused but the glaze was gone and he was looking around like he was trying to find someone to blame. Harry's hands were shaking and his own throat was tightening as he listened to the events from Draco's eyes. He didn't want to hear it all, but he knew he had to.

"Greyback had his hands on me and then he had my wand. I couldn't move, but I... I had his attention. And Greyback... he's fast. And I knew that he was faster than you and if you ran and he chased, you might not get away. So I didn't get my wand back. I could have. Wandlessly summoned it. But if I made him keep hold of me... he wouldn't be able to chase you. Because just because I was going to die, didn't mean you had to as well."

His words, mirrors of Harry's own, struck Harry like a knife to the chest. The air left him and he could barely turn to place his back to the wall before he slumped back. Fuck. The horrors of the revelations of Draco's choices rang through Harry, clawing at his tingling nerves and choking him like an obstruction in his throat.

Draco could have escaped. And instead he did sacrifice himself. Knowing he would die for it. Harry had thought it, even claimed it in Malfoy's defence before, but hearing it from the other man under truth serum. Harry couldn't feel his legs.

Draco was continuing; "I was scared, but I knew what I had to do. But then everything changed because your magic was back. Greyback still had me, I couldn't breathe, but you set everything on fire and you were wonderful. Your magic..." His voice was sounding less and less monotone, a sign that the serum was truly wearing off, but Harry had no doubt he was still speaking the truth.

"The power was more than anything I've felt. It felt like... the hum in the air before an earthquake. Like the second of silence between the lightning and the thunder. Like the white noise in your ears just before you come."

If Harry had been capable of quick comprehension, that last similie would have set him off blushing and wishing Hermione wasn't there to hear it.

"You fought and I thought maybe you'd escape anyway, maybe even I would too. But then the fire was everywhere and it was too hot, too bright, too suffocating. Greyback pulled me back and told me that you'd come back for me, he could smell you on me."

Okay, that one was direct enough for Harry to twitch and glance awkwardly up at Hermione and Lupin. He needn't have worried about their reaction though, they were both masks of horrified rapture as they listened to Draco's story.

"Then we were in the snow again and I still couldn't breath because of Greyback's hand around my neck. But I could hear him shout at the others to find you, and I tried to summon my wand to fight, but I couldn't. I didn't have enough air. I don't know how long it was but we were alone. Greyback was hurting me and he was telling me that you'd come and try and save me, and I didn't want you to but I did because I didn't know if you'd remember about my mum if I died."

Harry felt tears rising, felt a weight in his gut. Guilt, sadness, anger, rage.

"Greyback said he wasn't going to send you to Voldemort. He said he was going to gut you, fuck me in your remains and then take me to Voldemort so he could kill me in front of my mum."

Harry gasped a breath around his controlled sobs. He wouldn't cry in front of them. Even as he saw a single tear slip down Draco's face, watched as his face began to crumble around the veritaserum. He was probably completely free of its effects now, and yet he was still talking.

"And then you were there again. You'd got out of the fire because, because of course you did, you're Harry Potter. And you'd come back for me. For me." Draco sounded surprised at his own words. Like he was in awe of Harry.

"I couldn't see you very well, or hear you, but I could feel you. Greyback was happy, he knew you'd come back. And I wanted you to go, to get out and use your wand away from the wards so your Order would come, but you didn't. You walked away though, and I was relieved. I was happy. You were going to go away, but I could still feel you, you weren't going far enough. Greyback thought you had though."

Harry swallowed, brushing the back of his hand roughly against his burning eyes. He knew what was next, how this story ended.

"He was angry. He pushed me away and I could breath. The snow was cold. He grabbed my shirt and opened it with his... his claws. I thought..." Harry closed his eyes. "I thought he was going to... but he didn't... he opened my shirt then he opened my chest."

Harry remembered. Remembered the blood, the red, the white. The anger, the fury, the fear. Remembered running with burning calves, numb to anything as the world blurred, vision scarlet as he tried to get to Draco in time.

"It hurt a lot. And I couldn't move, not really. I think I was dying." He said it so matter of fact. "And he kept cutting and clawing and scratching and I could feel the wind and snow on my chest. I felt hot and cold. I couldn't see anything, or hear anything or feel anthing until suddenly I could feel Harry."

Harry's eyes sprung open, blurry with tears, and his head snapped around to the boy sat beside him. Draco's head was facing him, eyes clear and focused. They were so close Harry could feel the warmth of his breath on his face. There was nobody else in the room, no light, no air. Just Draco.

"And it was like I wasn't dying, it was like I was being born. You were everywhere, and you were so powerful. I didn't hurt anymore. I could just feel you and feel you getting rid of Greyback. It was like someone slowly lighting a room, I think. Turning the brightness up and up until all the shadows were gone. Like... someone throwing white paint on a chalkboard. Greyback was gone and you were... brilliant."

Harry kissed Draco and Draco kissed Harry. The whole world vanished. All the fear, all the anger, all the fiery red, the cold red, the empty red... his world became blues, greens, whites, greys. The kiss was motionless, lips just touching where nothing else was.

Harry breathed, tears making his throat catch. He felt Draco's do the same and as they pulled slightly apart, rested his forehead against Malfoy's. His eyes were still shut, ears numb to any sound but that of his own pulse.

xx

"Harry?" Reality seeped slowly back to Harry like water slowly creeping across a cloth. His eyes fluttered open. Draco still had his shut, mouth open slightly and old tears staining his face. Lupin had spoken his name, but Harry didn't acknowledge it yet.

"Draco." Harry breathed. He raised his head a fraction, brushing his lips across the tip of Draco's nose. Malfoy's eyes opened and Harry wondered how he'd ever been able to look into that silver with anything regarding hate.

"Harry." Lupin's voice was calm but insistent. Harry took a deep breath and turned his face enough to include Remus in his field of vision. He and Hermione were stood up from the wall. Hermione had her arms wrapped around herself, lips pressed into a thin line, eyes shining with unspilled tears. Remus had a hand over his mouth, eyebrows drawn together. He carefully let it fall.

"I believe him."

XX

 **EXTRA A/N: I'm trying a new little scene break ( the space xx space thing) because i don't super like how everything's been flowing so we'll see if thats cool. also turns out, as i re-read through this as usual, i still don't know how to spell ceiling.**


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